


Harmony at Home

by Th3Alchemist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Potter Family Feels (Harry Potter), Potter Family-centric (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 08:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23468158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Th3Alchemist/pseuds/Th3Alchemist
Summary: A collection of light, short stories following Harry and Hermione Potter and their family home life. These stories are posted individually, but this is the archived collection. Alternate universe setting, Harry/Hermione relationship centric, light in tone and subject matter with a younger audience in mind. As fluffy as you get, and all around cosy Harmony Family goodness.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	1. A Snow Day

A Harmony One-Shot. Part of the Harmony at Home series

* * *

The large bed depressed unevenly, first on the left, then on the right. There was an exchange of low hisses, as blame was hastily assigned, but then all went still.

"You wake her."

"No… _you_ wake her…as it was _your idea_."

"Celesca…you're younger than me…Mummy won't tell you off as much."

"Shut up, Soph. You know you're Mummy's favourite…"

Hermione huffed to herself and stirred awake as her daughters argued. "Girls, girls…stop rowing…I don't have _favourites._ I don't _like_ either of you…"

"Mummy!" the girls chimed together, the first time they'd agreed all morning.

"I _love_ you both!" said Hermione, grabbing her girls by their waists and pulling them to her in a fit of giggles. "Now, where are my kisses?"

She soon learned, as she was assaulted by them.

"That's better," Hermione grinned. "Now…why are you waking me up on Christmas Eve? At this hour?"

"Well," said little Celesca, bouncing on the bed. "Daddy and Uncle Neville have gone to get some carrots for Santa's Reindeer."

"Mummy?" asked Sophie, who was nine years old and worldly in her ways. "Does Daddy _know_ that Santa isn't real?"

"Who told you that?" asked Hermione, sitting up.

"I did," said Celesca, calmly. "Last Christmas, see, when we had the Grotto in Godric's Hollow, Santa had a lightening-shaped scar on his head, just like Daddy. I _knew_ it was _him,_ just pretending."

"Why was Daddy pretending to be Santa Claus, Mummy?" asked Sophie.

"Well," said Hermione, mastering herself. "Santa is _very_ busy at Christmas. It's really hard to get to every little boy and girl in the world in one night to give them presents. So, sometimes, when the workload gets too much, Santa asks people to go into shops and things for him. He gives the _best_ presents to the kids of those mummies and daddies that help him out when he needs it."

"Oooh, ooh," said Celesca excitedly. "Does that mean that _we'll_ get the best presents, because Daddy helped Santa?"

"I can't tell you that," said Hermione, evasively. "You'll just have to wait till tomorrow."

"But, Mummy," Sophie complained. "We _can't_ wait. We've decided."

"Well, you're just going to have to," said Hermione, sternly. "It's only for one more _sleep_ …then you can open _all_ those presents under the tree."

"Can't we have just _one?"_ Celesca begged. She was so earnest, so cute, that Hermione almost gave in to her youngest girl. But she managed to stay motherly firm.

"No."

"Just a _little_ one? _Please_?" Sophie pleaded.

"No, not even a little one," said Hermione firmly.

"But, Mummy, that's really _so_ unfair," Celesca complained bitterly. "We opened the last doors on our advent calendars today. Sophie had a new Gobstones set, but all I had was a silly little pill-o-pers stone. It's pretty, but it's _rubbish_. It doesn't do _anything_. It's really so _rubbish_."

"Yes, it is," Sophie agreed, lording it over her sister. "Especially as when Daddy let us open a present _yesterday,_ I had a years' supply of Chocolate Frogs."

"Oh, he _did_ , did he?" asked Hermione, narrowing her eyes. "I shall have to speak to your father about that."

"Please, Mummy, don't take them away," Sophie begged. "I so _love_ Chocolate Frogs. I had _your_ card in the last pack Daddy gave me."

"Oh…really?" asked Hermione, blushing at her daughters' enthusiasm.

"Oh yes," said Sophie, keenly. "But Daddy traded with me for one of Nicolas Flamel. I hope you don't mind. I needed him. I've nearly finished the Alchemists Page in my sticker book. All I need to get now is Paracelsus…oh, and Daddy, himself, of course. His card is _so_ hard to get, Mummy, did you know?"

Hermione grinned to herself. "Your father was _always_ hard to get, sweetheart."

"Stop talking about stickers," said Celesca, crossly. "We are _supposed_ to be going out in the snow."

Hermione sighed that the truth had outed at last.

"Okay, girls, let me get dressed."

"Yay!" Sophie and Celesca tweeted in joy. "We'll get _ourselves_ ready, Mummy, You'll see."

Hermione had serious doubts about that, but said nothing as her girls disappeared from the room. She eased herself from bed and looked out of the window. The garden was covered in a blanket of white. It was stunningly pretty and Hermione was stirred by a sense of festive cheer. She smiled to herself. Her girls would likely wear her out, but it promised to be a lovely day.

Maybe she could just perch some Christmas cakes on her bump and leave them to their revelry. That might work for her.

But things soon took a turn for the insane. A blonde-haired head popped around the door.

"Mummy…can we bring toys?"

"Just one or two, Cesc," Hermione replied.

"Okay." And little Celesca popped away.

"Look, Mummy," said Sophie, emerging in the gap Celesca had left. "I've put my earmuffs on and I'm wearing _all_ my jumpers, as its cold outside."

Sophie looked like she was dressed for a spell on the moon.

"You won't need that many jumpers," said Hermione, crossly. "You'll be too hot. Take them off."

"But I cant pick which one I want," Sophie complained.

"Pick your favourite," said Hermione, getting irked.

"They're _all_ my favourite," Sophie pointed out. "Besides, it's not fair to the others if I pick one out special."

"And look, Mummy," said Celesca, emerging from her room. "I've got my dump truck and bucket and spade. Should I bring my fishing rod, too?"

"No," said Hermione, her exasperation growing. "They are summer toys. Not snow toys. Put them back."

"But, Mummy…"

"Put them back!" Hermione snapped. "And get dressed properly. Snow days are no place for your tutu."

"But, Mummy, I _like_ my tutu," Celesca frowned. "I think I look pretty in it."

"You _do_ look pretty," Hermione huffed, then she turned to Sophie and frowned. For she was now half naked and all her clothes were in a pile at her feet. "What are _you_ doing?"

"My jumpers, Mummy…they made me _so_ hot, I had to take them off."

"Can I just take my bucket and spade, Mummy? I'd so like to build an ice palace for a princess…"

Hermione slumped back and sat quietly against the wall. For a moment, nothing moved but her shoulders. Then, a minute or so later, two pairs of little arms slipped around her neck.

"Don't cry, Mummy, we're sorry," said Sophie softly. "Look. I've put my favourite jumper on. It's the emerald green one, look, like Daddies' eyes."

"And I'll just take my dolly," added Celesca. "She likes the snow. Don't cry, Mummy."

There was a _whoosh_ in the hallway and Hermione felt herself scooped up into fierce, loving arms. He was such a dick, he could always cheer her up, even when she felt sure she should be mad at him. He kissed her forehead and gently smoothed her engorged belly.

"I've pulled a sickie for the next fortnight. I'm sorry, Min, I should have given work the finger _months ago."_

 _"Daddy!"_ Celesca and Sophie chorused.

"Right, I'm thinking Potter Winter Games," said Harry energetically, kissing Hermione again and turning to his girls. "Sledging, Snowball Fights and an ice skating race around the pond. Mummy…will you be the judge?"

Hermione smiled up at Harry, as Sophie and Celesca whooped in excitement. Pregnancy made her so hormonal, but he was so ridiculously lovely he just made her melt.

"Are you really staying?" she asked gently.

"Hermione…I should never have left," Harry replied. "If I ever make that mistake again, I give you permission to hex me senseless."

Hermione grinned. "Okay. But I'll change the _h_ to an _s_. A girl has needs."

Harry swooned at her. "That works, too."


	2. Hide and Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione play a game with their daughters

Hide and Seek - A Harmony One-Shot. Part of the Harmony at Home series

Harry and Hermione play hide and seek with their children

* * *

Harry and Hermione tip-toed into their bedroom, stopping at the foot of their king-sized bed. They were trying extra hard to be quiet, which was certainly easier for Harry, as it was Hermione's turn to carry the baby. The sleeping infant huffed in his sleep, so much like his mother, and Hermione adjusted the little silk neck scarf she was wearing, so her son's death grip in it was less likely to choke her.

Harry grinned at the picture before him. For on his bed, poking out from the end of the slate-grey quilt, which had obviously been pulled up too far, were two pairs of little feet. One pair had only managed to pull on one sock. Harry grinned fondly at the scene. Little Celesca was only six, and she'd not quite mastered the art of dressing herself properly yet. And her older sister, wiggling her perfectly besocked toes next to her, in their not-so-secret hiding place, was firm in her belief that such lessons had to be learned alone, as good training for later life.

Harry grinned at Hermione and they exchanged nods, ready to be begin. Mimi, their black-and-white kneazle kitten, circled their feet once, like a furry chequered flag marking the start of the game.

"Well, Mummy, I really don't know," Harry began dramatically. "But I really think that _this time_ we might just have to accept it."

"But I don't want to," Hermione replied, with equal drama. "I don't want to believe we've _lost_ our little girls! What will we tell the Longbottoms?"

Muffled giggles crept from beneath the thick quilt, quickly followed by a cross little _shush_ from Sophie, was was older, wiser and a much better hider. Even if she did say so herself.

"But we've looked _everywhere_ , Mummy," Harry went on. "Our girls aren't in their beds -"

"Or in the shed -" Hermione added.

"Or behind the curtains -"

"Or under the sofa -"

"Or even in the oven," said Harry, thoughtfully. "Which is a pity, because I was quite looking forward to having Little Girl Toe Pie for my dinner. I had the gravy ready and everything."

And twenty little toes crept cautiously up towards the safety of the quilt hem.

"Well, Daddy, I suppose you must be right," said Hermione, sighing in defeat. "We've lost our little girls."

"Which is a shame," Harry added, ruefully. "I was just starting to like them, too. And they were ever so pretty."

"Don't worry, we can make you some more," said Hermione.

"But I don't think I can wait that long for them to _grow_ ," said Harry. "Maybe there's a shop on Diagon Alley that sells them."

"Yes, maybe," said Hermione, encouragingly. "Maybe we can buy _better_ children. Ones who are _really_ good at playing Hide-And-Seek. That's _my_ favourite game. I don't think I can stand to have little children who are _rubbish_ at hiding, you know. Not when I'm the best hider ever."

"And I was the youngest seeker in a hundred years at Hogwarts," Harry added. "And the best ever, too."

There was a cross little huff from under the quilt.

"Did you hear that, Mummy?"

"Yes, Daddy I did. What do you think it was?"

"Shall I guess?" asked Harry.

There was a little giggle from the bed. "Yes, guess," said a little six-year-old voice, quickly followed by a nine-year-old clicking her tongue in frustration next to it.

"Okay. Was it a meatball?" asked Harry.

Another little giggle. "No."

"Was it a dump truck?"

"Nope."

"Was it a hippogriff, laying eggs in my bed?" asked Harry, in deathly seriousness.

"Hippogriffs don't lay _eggs,"_ said Sophie bossily. "They give birth to foals and then keep them incubated for six months, in a nest made from their own feathers."

Harry queried a look at Hermione, who nodded back with an impressed grin. If _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ was being quoted, who was Harry Potter to argue with it?

"Well, I don't know what _is_ hiding in our bed, Mummy, but it's certainly a very _clever_ thing," said Harry.

"You know, Daddy, _things_ that can think for themselves, and are that clever, can be pretty dangerous," said Hermione. "I think you should get your wand, just in case it jumps out and tries to eat us."

"You're right, Mummy," said Harry seriously. "Do you think we can handle this ourselves, or should I call in some of the Aurors to take care of it?"

"I was thinking of going all the way to Hit Wizards."

"Hit Wizards...for a _meatball?"_

The quilt flew up, and a cross little blonde head popped out from under it.

"Daddy...I am _not_ a meatball!" Celesca complained, her expression furiously, adorably, cross.

"No, but you are _found_!" said Harry, jumping onto the bed. "And that means being tickled for a whole minute as punishment! And your sister will be next!"

Celesca screamed into a fit of giggles as Harry began his punishment. Little Sophie leapt up and ran to Hermione.

"Protect me, Mummy. Daddy's going to tickle me to _death_!" Sophie begged, looking with eyes wide in horror at her sister, who she was sure was being murdered by tickles on the bed. "You're on my side, aren't you, Mummy?"

"I'm afraid not, sweetie," said Hermione sadly. "You picked your sister over me, so..."

And with that Hermione, who had been hiding her wand in her infant son's blankets, cast a silent tickling charm, which sent Sophie sprawling and curling and rolling around on the floor, giggling so much that tears streamed from her eyes and she accidentally _wet_ herself. Which turned the whole mood of the house to one of uproar, as Sophie began to cry in a very different way.

"Hey, come on, it's not so bad," said Harry, scooping up his eldest girl in one arm and wandlessly cleaning her soiled clothes with the other. "There. All better."

"Thank you, Daddy," said Sophie, snuggling into his shoulder and sending a dagger-laden look at Hermione under Harry's arm. "Mummy is _so_ mean."

"Mummy just doesn't like to lose, sweetheart," said Harry, grinning over at Hermione, who frowned back and made a face at him.

"It's okay, Mummy, I still love you," said Celesca, crossing to Hermione and wrapping around her leg in a deep hug.

"Well, that's good," said Hermione. "Because I was thinking, as it's still raining too much to play outside, we might have a baking day. You know how nice it is to sit in the kitchen and watch the rain, while smelling the smell of baking cookies. I was thinking oatmeal and chocolate chip ones today. And I need a helper in my kitchen."

"And I'm the _best_ helper!" Celesca cried, holding up her hand by way of volunteering.

"You are _not,"_ Sophie protested vehemently. " _I'm_ the best helper. And even more so because oatmeal and chocolate chip cookies are my _favourite,_ so I'll help even _better_ than normal! Tell her I'm the best helper, Mummy."

"I have room in my kitchen for _both_ my favourite helpers," said Hermione, placatingly. Both her daughters seemed suitably pacified, though Sophie continued to scowl and pout and Celesca poked her tongue out at her in response.

"And just what am _I_ supposed to do, while all three of my favourite girls are doing all this fabulous baking?" asked Harry, mockly affronted.

" _You_ can take your favourite _boy..._ and change his nappy," said Hermione, offering Harry his infant son. "It's quite a smelly one, too."

Harry huffed and accepted the sleeping baby, and the pungent aroma that came with him. He huffed again...he _definitely_ should have offered to bake...


	3. The Birds and the Bees

The Birds and the Bees. A "Harmony at Home" Short

Hermione Potter and her daughters discuss the little things as they prepare for a visit from the Longbottoms

* * *

Hermione Potter liked her life very much indeed. She had her wonderful husband, her adorable daughters and her new baby boy, which completed her little family set. She also had an extremely cute black-and-white patched kneazle kitten, called Mimi, which Harry had bought her as a birthday present, to keep her company when he was at work and their girls were in school.

Mrs Potter was very happy with how things were. She had her family, her kitten, her home office, where she could do lots of important work, and a very big library, that Harry had built for her and filled with lots and lots of books. She was happiest in her library, reading to her girls, while Harry rubbed her feet or shoulders or played idly with her hair and brought her lots of cups of tea.

She missed her pregnancy bump, as it had been a handy book-rest for those cosy nights in, but as she and Harry hadn't decided yet if three babies was the right number for them, she would just have to wait and see if she'd ever get it back again.

The Potters were best family friends with the Longbottoms, and Mrs Longbottom was Hermione's best witch friend. Her name was Enola and she had a daughter, too, who was also nine-years-old, the same as Hermione's eldest. And Sophie Potter and Alison Longbottom thought it was just the best and funniest thing that they were best friends, too, just like their mummies.

And, in their opinion, there were no bester friends anywhere.

So, on this particularly sunny Saturday, both Hermione and Sophie Potter were in very high spirits, as the Longbottoms were coming to stay for a 'long weekend'. This confused little Celesca Potter, who couldn't understand how this particular weekend could be longer than any other. But then, she decided, her Mummy and Mrs Longbottom were both very powerful witches and could probably add extra days in or something if they wanted to.

At nine o'clock in the morning, Harry Potter kissed his wife and girls goodbye, adjusted the blankets around his infant son, dreaming away in his cot, and went to collect the Longbottoms from the train station. They had decided it would be great fun to travel to the Potters like Muggles, so they had boarded a train at Paddington station in London for the two hour ride to Cardiff, where Harry would meet them and bring them home to see everyone.

The house was very busy in preparation for the arrival of the Longbottoms. Mrs Longbottom was heavily pregnant and Celesca was helping Hermione get her bedroom just right, while Sophie started building a blanket fort for her and Alison in her own room, which she was very excited to be sharing with her best friend for the next few days.

"Here you go, Mummy," said Celesca, proffering her full arms. "I've brought Mrs Longbottom my pillow with the hippogriffs on it - to put under her back like _you_ used to do - and my _Monster Book of Monsters_ for her to read, if she isn't sleepy when she goes to bed."

"Thank you, sweetheart," said Hermione, smiling. "But how do you know she _likes_ monsters?"

Celesca frowned. _She_ liked monsters, she thought they were the _best_ thing, and she couldn't possibly see how Mrs Longbottom wouldn't like them, too. And she told her mother all about that for a few minutes, until she agreed, too. Because, after all, _everyone_ liked monsters, really.

"Mummy, is Mrs Longbottom still all big and fat?" asked Celesca.

"She's all big and _pregnant,"_ Hermione corrected, taking her daughter's hand as they made their way back towards the kitchen. "She has a baby inside her, you know."

"Yes, Mummy, I _know_ that _,"_ said Celesca, sagely, rolling her bright blue eyes. "But _your_ baby came out…and Mrs Longbottom's was in her tummy before yours was."

"Perhaps baby James just got bored of being in my tummy and thought it was high time he came out to see the world," Hermione offered. "Or maybe he just wanted to come out and meet his big sisters."

"Yes, that's probably it," Celesca nodded. " _I'd_ want to come out and meet me, if it was me."

"He wouldn't have come out to meet _you,_ he'd come out to meet _me_ , as I'm the best big sister in the world," said Sophie haughtily, as she joined the others at the kitchen table.

"You are _not_ the best big sister in the world," Celesca frowned crossly. "You're _my_ big sister, too, you know, and I think Mummy could have gotten me a much better one than _you_."

And she poked her tongue out to emphasise her point.

"Now, now girls, don't row," said Hermione lightly. "I've only just gotten your little brother to sleep, and he'll be ever so grumpy if you wake him."

"Sorry, Mummy," the girls chorused.

Hermione smiled at her daughters. "How about we make some Welsh Cakes for when the Longbottoms get here?"

"Ooh, yes _please!_ " cried Celesca, excitedly. "Can I roll the mixture and do the cutting? I like that bit the best."

"And I'll mix up all the eggs and flour and butter in my little bowl," said Sophie, who was already stretching on tip toe to reach it from the Big Cupboard.

Hermione went to her pantry and collected flour and butter, and some caster sugar, some eggs and a bit of milk and put them on the table.

"Shall we use sultanas or chocolate chips, girls?"

"Sultanas," said Celesca decisively.

"Chocolate chips, as I like them better like that," Sophie countered.

"Both it is," said Hermione cheerily to offset another argument, as her daughters began to play Rock, Paper, Scissors, to see who would win. This was always an unfair game, as Celesca was a _Seer,_ so she could read minds, which meant she _always_ won.

Hermione put a little pile of sultanas and a little pile of chocolate chips in front of Sophie, then one in front of Celesca, then turned to put the bakestone on to heat up. Mimi, who had come to investigate what was going on in the kitchen, hopped up onto the table. She sniffed at the four little piles. But she didn't like sultanas _or_ chocolate chips. She was curious about the bowl of beaten eggs that Sophie had left unattended, though, and she dipped her nose it in, only for Hermione to turn and catch her and take her away to her little red bowl, where there were some kitten treats that she much preferred to any of it.

Celesca thought it would be a brilliantly good idea to put pepper in her Welsh Cakes. They never _usually_ did, but it seemed a bit unfair to leave the pepper shaker in the cupboard when they were using the salt one. She thought it might feel left out and get lonely. So she poured some flour onto the table, ready to roll the mixture Sophie was making, and she poured out a little mound of pepper next to it, just to be ready.

"Achooo!"

Celesca sneezed as the pepper went up her nose. It was such a _good_ one, a bit of her magic spilled out and knocked the bag of flour over, and it covered Sophie, who was sat opposite her, from her head to her shoulders in a white dusting. She frowned angrily, looking like a very cross ghost. Celesca, who was usually _very_ afraid of ghosts, just laughed and laughed at this one, but she _stopped_ laughing when Sophie threw handfuls of flour and caster sugar over _her._ So she began flicking sultanas at her sister, who returned fire with chocolate chips, and they waged a brutal little war for a few minutes, until Hermione turned around and cleaned everyone up with a little flick of her wand and told them off for being so silly.

Sophie and Celesca decided to call a truce, for the sake of the Welsh Cakes, and they were soon rolling out a big sheet of the cake mixture onto the kitchen table. Hermione gave each of her girls a stencil cutter, and they soon had two big piles of little dough circles, which they then pushed the sultanas and chocolate chips into. Hermione placed the first batch onto the hot bakestone and soon the kitchen was filled with the delicious smell of the baking cakes. Mimi came for one last look, just in case, but she didn't like Welsh Cakes any more than she liked sultanas or chocolate chips, so she just slinked away into the garden, where she began to wash herself on the sunny verandah.

As they sat and waited and enjoyed the smell of the baking cakes, wondering how many they could eat before the Longbottoms arrived, baby James stirred in his cot, and Hermione took him out to give him his feed.

"Mummy," said Celesca, furrowing her brow curiously. "Do you remember when baby James was in your tummy?"

"I remember."

"Did you feel full, like you'd eaten a big pie or a _whole_ plate of meatballs or something?"

"No, but he did kick me a lot," Hermione replied.

"That's not very nice," said Sophie, frowning. "I hope you told him off. Daddy told _me_ off for kicking him last week."

"Yes, well," said Hermione. "When you play football, you're supposed to kick the _ball_ , not the other players."

"But Daddy was _cheating_ ," Sophie complained, bitterly. "He kept doing magic on the ball, so it would move when I tried to kick it. And I kept missing it and falling over. So I got cross and kicked _him_ instead."

Celesca giggled at that. "But, Mummy…is the baby in Mrs Longbottom as big as baby James?"

"The baby would be about that big, yes," said Hermione. "I'm sure he or she will come out very soon. Why, sweetie?"

"Well, he just seems _too_ big…to fit," said Celesca, looking at her own belly for comparison. "How did baby James get inside you in the first place?"

"The stork brought him," Hermione explained.

"The stork?" asked Sophie, who had perked up with the change of topic. "A _bird_ brought you a baby?"

"So…Daddy didn't have anything to do with it at all," Celesca contemplated.

"Yes, well, Daddy gave the stork a special seed, which he gave to me to put in my belly, where it grew into a baby."

"Why didn't Daddy just give the seed straight to you?" asked Sophie. "You live in the same house and sleep in the same bed. It would have been easier than using a stork."

"Well, the stork needed a job, and you know how Daddy likes to help people who need things," said Hermione.

"He _is_ always helping people," Celesca considered. "But a stork isn't a _person_ …it's a _bird._ "

"Your father doesn't believe in racial discrimination."

"Alison told me that _her_ Mummy got her baby in her because her Daddy loves her very much and _he_ put it there," said Sophie. "How does _that_ work, then, if they haven't got a stork to help them?"

Hermione sighed deeply, and put baby James back down into his cot.

"It's like this, girls," said Hermione, patiently. "Sometimes, when a man and a lady love each other very, very much -"

"Like you and Daddy," said Celesca, who had seen it with her special Seer magic and was in no doubt about the fact.

"Like me and your Daddy," Hermione confirmed with a big smile. "Well, when they love each other _that_ much they decide, one day, they might like a baby to share it with. So they can love them, too."

"You and Daddy must love each other very, very, _very_ much then," said Sophie. "As you've made _three_ babies now."

"We have, and we love you all, and each other, more than anything in the world," Hermione confirmed.

"So how does the baby _get_ there?" Celesca pressed. "And what's it made of?"

"Well, when a man gets old enough to make babies, he can give a lady a special seed he can make inside his body," said Hermione.

"Like the one Daddy gave to the stork to give to you?" asked Celesca.

"Exactly the same," said Hermione. "It looks like a little tadpole. And when he puts it into a lady's tummy, it finds an egg - that ladies make inside - and the tadpole goes into it and it grows into a baby."

Celesca looked horrified at the story, as though she'd read it in _The Monster Book of Monsters_.

"A _tadpole…_ and an _egg_ …" she breathed quietly. "And it becomes a baby? But…what happens to the shell?"

"What shell?"

"On the egg?" Celesca clarified.

Hermione chuckled. "This type of egg doesn't have a shell, sweetheart."

"Oh. Okay."

"So let me get this right," Sophie queried. "A tadpole goes into an egg - which _doesn't_ have a shell, which is not like any egg _I've_ ever heard of - and it turns into a baby. That must be why it takes months and months, then, because tadpoles and eggs are nothing like people."

"You're quite right," said Hermione, nodding. "They're not."

"That's just _weird_ ," said Sophie, deliciously disgusted and fascinated all at once. "But…how does the man get the tadpole into the lady's tummy to meet her egg in the first place?"

"Does she eat the tadpole, like in a fish finger sandwich?" asked Celesca, innocently.

"No, she doesn't _eat_ it, sweetheart," said Hermione, patiently.

"Is it by magic?" asked Sophie.

"It's a _sort_ of magic," said Hermione, thoughtfully.

"How did Daddy put his tadpole in _your_ tummy, Mummy?" asked Celesca.

Hermione flicked her eyes at the clock. She hoped Harry wouldn't take his time bringing the Longbottoms home.

"Yes, Mummy," Sophie tag-teamed. "How did Daddy do that?"

Hermione sighed. She flipped the Welsh Cakes on the bakestone, and turned back to her girls. "When me and your Daddy decided we loved each other so much we wanted to have a baby, he was able to make his _boy_ parts _change shape_ , because he was so happy to be making a baby with me, and then he was able to fit them _inside_ my _girl parts_."

Sophie and Celesca gasped, and clung to each other in collective horror.

"And then," Hermione continued, grinning at the shocked expressions facing her. "We were both so happy to be like that, that his tadpoles popped out of him from his _parts_ and found my egg, then they went into my belly together, where they grew into Sophie!"

" _I_ was an egg and tadpole?" Sophie asked in astonishment.

"You _both_ were," said Hermione kindly, as Celesca looked at her in wide-eyed shock. "All little girls and boys start out like that."

"And do _all_ people make babies in that way?" asked Sophie.

"Mostly," said Hermione, gently. "But some people can't make babies like that, because of problems in their bodies, so they have to do it in other ways. And other animals do it differently again. Birds and bees, for example. And you want to see how _giants_ make babies… _their_ tadpoles are as big as Mimi!"

"I don't remember being a tadpole," said Celesca thoughtfully, relaxing now that she knew that everyone started off the same. "But I bet I was the fastest swimmer."

"You must have been," Hermione agreed. "Because you beat a lot of _other_ little tadpoles, that your Daddy put into my tummy at the same time, to get to my egg first."

"And it _definitely_ didn't have a shell?" Celesca queried. Of all aspects of this story, the idea of a shell-less egg was the most disturbing bit of it all. She didn't know if she'd ever accept the existence of such a thing. "Are you sure? It might have just cracked and fallen off and come out in your wee wee or something."

Sophie burst into giggles next to her sister.

"No, it definitely didn't have a shell, Celesca," said Hermione.

"Okay. Just checking," Celesca replied.

"So," said Sophie. "After the egg and tadpole turn into a little baby…how does it get out?"

"Would you believe that a little door grows on the mummy's belly, and the baby knocks and asks to come out?" Hermione asked in hope.

"No," Sophie and Celesca chimed.

Hermione laughed. "Okay, girls, this is the part you wont like. But, believe me, it isn't as bad as it sounds."

Sophie and Celesca prepared themselves as best they could.

"Well, when it's time for the baby to come out, the mummy's _girl parts_ grow bigger and bigger and wider and wider, until eventually the baby can just about fit out. So the mummy pushes and pushes…and then the baby pops out."

"Like having a really big poop?" asked Celesca.

"Celesca Potter! Not while we're baking, please!" Hermione chided gently, as Sophie rocked with giggles next to her sister.

"Sorry, Mummy," Celesca grinned.

"That _is_ what it sounds like, Mummy," said Sophie cautiously.

"I _suppose_ it is sort of like that," Hermione replied, scrunching her nose at her girls.

"Does it hurt?" asked Sophie. "Baby James is a little baby…but still too big to fit out of _there_."

"It hurts a bit," said Hermione, honestly. "But then you get the baby and you're so full of love for them you forget all about it."

"Who hurt the most, me or Cesc?" asked Sophie, quirking a wicked grin at her sister, who made a face at her in reply. Hermione just narrowed her eyes at them.

"You must _like_ making babies with Daddy, though," said Celesca. "As you've had three now."

"Well, where else am I going to get such good Welsh Cake-making helpers?" Hermione smiled. "I think the first ones are ready now, by the way."

"Ooh, goody," cried Celesca happily. "Can we have one?"

"How about one _each_?" Hermione grinned back, scooping the cakes onto a little plate.

"Make sure mine don't have any horrible sultanas in," said Sophie, reaching across towards the plate. "I can't tell which ones are which."

"Here you go, Soph, this one has chocolate in. Look, it's all melted on the side," said Celesca, handing the little cake over with a kind-eyed smile.

"Mmmm, delicious," said Sophie, cramming half the cake into her mouth in one go.

"See, Mummy," said Celesca proudly. "I was the best tadpole, and the best egg…and the best _little sister_ ever."

And, as the three Potter ladies sat and ate their lovely little Welsh Cakes, as they waited for the Longbottoms to arrive, none of them were going to disagree with _that._


	4. Grandma's Visit

Harmony at Home: Grandma's Visit

* * *

Hermione Potter fluffed the pillows on the bed one last time, then checked the clock. The big hand was nearly facing _twelve_ now, which meant Grandma Granger would be arriving soon. Celesca Potter was excited, too. Grandma always brought her presents and Celesca wondered what she would get this time. She was almost as excited by that as she was her advent calendar window, which her mummy hadn't let her open yet.

"There, Mummy," said Celesca conclusively. "The room is all ready for Nanny Cat. We have tinsel in the windows and pretty flowers on the table by the bed. All I have to do is get my little oven and it will be perfect."

"And why would you bring your oven in here?" asked Hermione, lightly. "I'm quite sure Grandma wont want to cook after such a long trip."

"Oh no, Mummy, _I'll_ be doing the baking," said Celesca, proudly. "I will make ginger biscuits, then mince pies, then chocolate cake for afters. Nanny can watch to make sure it doesn't burn, then we will eat it all in bed while I read her a story."

"And what story will you read her?"

" _Daddy And the Basilisk_ ," said Celesca. "It's my favourite from _The Adventures of Harry Potter_."

Hermione smiled at her daughter. "I'm sure Nanny Granger will enjoy that. It's her favourite story, too."

"I know," Celesca replied. "I read it to her last time and she clapped when I finished. I played all the parts, and I even pretended _you_ were in it, Mummy."

"But I wasn't," said Hermione, gently. "I was Petrified, remember?"

"I remember. But I got Mimi to be the Basilisk, and I looked at her in the mirror, then fell down...like _this_."

And Celesca did. She fell down into a heap on the floor. Hermione crossed to her and helped her up.

"Now don't go doing that," she said. "You'll get creases in your pretty dress. You don't want to look messy for your Grandma, do you?"

"No, Mummy," said Celesca, jumping up from the floor.

"Now, come along," said Hermione. "You can help me tidy up downstairs. You know how messy your Daddy is."

Hermione took Celesca's hand and led her downstairs. The living room was a picture of festiveness. Sparkly decorations hung from every inch of the ceiling, the windows had been sprayed with pretend snow and twinkling lights, and there was a large Christmas Tree in one corner that Sophie Potter was busy adding baubles to. But she was _very_ cross.

"Mummy, will you please _kick_ Mimi! She keeps hitting my baubles off!"

Hermione looked down at her black and white Kneazle, who was happily pawing at a low-level icicle tree-decoration. Little Celesca giggled as she watched.

"I will _not_ kick her!" said Hermione, sternly. "And it isn't a nice thing to ask, is it Miss Potter?"

"But she's ruining _everything!"_ Sophie moaned. "I want Nanny Cat to say how pretty my tree is, but Mimi just wants to play with it!"

The Kneazle stopped and sent a dirty look at Sophie, paw poised...then knocked the icicle clear across the room. Sophie cried out in frustration, Celesca hooted with laughter, and Hermione bent down to scoop up her mischievous pet.

"She just wants to join in and help with Christmas," said Hermione, scratching Mimi's chin as she purred. "Is that too much to ask?"

"Yes," Sophie replied grumpily. "Put a spell on her to go away."

The Kneazle meowed in protest.

"Give her to me, Mummy," said Celesca, holding out her stubby little arms. "She can help me open my advent calendar instead."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at her daughter, then at her cat, who suddenly clung on harder with her sharp claws. Mimi knew what was coming.

"Okay, if you're sure," said Hermione, handing the cat to her youngest girl. Celesca gripped on tight, holding Mimi too strongly for her to escape.

"Here we go," said Celesca, lifting her advent calendar from the wall. "What did you get today, Soph?"

Sophie flicked her dark-haired head from her tree decorating. "I had fifteen liquorice wands, as it's the Fifteenth of December."

"Ooh, I _love_ liquorice wands!" said Celesca, dreamily. "Can I have one?"

"No. I ate them all."

"Sophie Potter!" Hermione admonished. "You greedy little Niffler. _Fifteen_ wands? Honestly!"

Celesca giggled at that, but Sophie simply frowned.

"I am _not_ a Niffler, Mummy. Niffler's only like shiny things."

"Liquorice wands can be shiny," Celesca pointed out, thoughtfully. "Because of all the sugar on them, can't they, Mummy?"

"They certainly can," Hermione agreed. "Unless greedy little witches eat them all and don't share."

"I'll give you a wand if _I_ get one, Mummy," said Celesca. "Because I'm your _bestest_ daughter."

"No you are not!" Sophie protested. " _I'm_ the one making the tree all nice and pretty for Nanny Catrin. So that makes _me_ the best!"

"Mummy...will you tell her I'm the best?" Celesca cried.

Hermione sighed in defeat. "If you carry on... _neither_ of you will be the best and I'll just have to get your Daddy to make a _new_ little girl with me!"

"No, Mummy! Don't do that!" Celesca yelped.

"No, don't," Sophie agreed. "Cesc and I will take turns in being the best. How about that?"

"Deal," Celesca concurred.

"And why shouldn't I have another baby?" asked Hermione, curiously.

"Because baby James cries all the time," Sophie whined.

"And he smells of poop," Celesca added, causing Sophie to erupt in giggles of agreement.

"All babies smell like that from time to time," Hermione returned evenly. "Both of _you two_ did."

"I _never_ did!" Sophie complained. "You said I always smelled of roses."

"You did," Hermione replied. "Once I'd washed the smell of poop off you!"

Celesca rocked with giggles on the couch. Mimi tried to make a dash for safety, but Celesca held her firm.

"And Ally Longbottom says her little brother smells of talc most of the time. Not poop," Sophie continued.

"Little Alison will learn the truth as soon as Enola starts asking her for help with the baby," Hermione explained. "Don't forget, Soph, you didn't know Cesc was a poop-machine until you insisted on changing her nappy."

"Urgh...oh _yeah_!" cried Sophie, remembering suddenly. The memory of horror was evilly delicious. "Cesc _stunk_ , didn't she, Mummy?"

Sophie grinned teasingly at her sister.

"I did _not_ stink!" Celesca retorted. "Not as bad as _you,_ I bet. Mummy, who smelled worse...me or Soph?"

"Baby poo is baby poo, girls," said Hermione, sagely. "It doesn't matter which baby's bum it comes from."

Celesca giggled again, but Sophie looked disgusted. "That's it, then...I'm never having a baby. Ever. They are just too smelly."

"And noisy," Celesca nodded, just as baby James began to wail from his cot nearby. Hermione got up and went to change her baby, who was typically ripe.

"Go on then, Cesc, open today's door," Sophie urged, pointing at the advent calendar and sitting down to watch.

"Okay. Mimi will help me, wont you, Baby Mim?"

The Kneazle looked dubious, but sniffed at the little picture the with big '15' on just to be compliant. Celesca used her free hand to flick open the little cardboard door.

And chaos erupted in the living room.

First, there was a loud bang like a cannon going off, then a huge cloud of smoke covered little Celesca's blonde head entirely. Mimi made a break for it, hissing angrily as she scurried away to the safety of the kitchen. Then, fifteen Chocolate Frog boxes flew out from the advent calendar, surrounding Celesca like a ring of little moons.

"Ah, Chocolate Frogs!" Sophie chimed. "They're my favourite. Throw me one, Cesc."

"No. You didn't give me a liquorice wand," Celesca replied, stubbornly.

"But you were still in bed when I opened my calendar," Sophie explained. "And I had to stop Daddy eating all of them. You know how fat he's getting."

Celesca giggled. "Yes, he is getting fat. But I'm still not sharing."

"Please? Just one."

"No."

"If you give me a Frog, I'll let you put Merlin on top of the tree," Sophie offered.

"Okay." Celesca gave a big grin and threw her sister a Frog. "What card did you get?"

"Nicolas Flamel...again. Who did you get?"

"Ooh, I got _Daddy!_ " Celesca sang. "Mummy! Look! I got Daddy's Frog Card!"

"That's nice, sweetie."

"Did _you_ ever have Daddy, Mummy?" asked Celesca.

"Yes," Hermione replied thoughtfully. "I had your Daddy years ago...and lots of times since."

"You must _really_ like Chocolate Frogs then, Mummy," said Celesca. "To have had Daddy so many times."

"I've had Daddy a few times, too," Sophie added, nodding serenely.

Hermione scrunched her nose and huffed silently. "That's creepy, honey."

"Why's that?" asked Sophie, confused. "Everyone's had Daddy by now!"

Hermione simply shook her head and continued to rock baby James, who was cooing on her shoulder.

Just then there was a knock on the door. Both Sophie and Celesca jumped up, just as Harry entered carrying a big, heavy bag.

"Daddy! Nanny!" the girls chorused, then clobbered both with hugs in turn.

"Oh, Min, stick the kettle on," said Harry, moving over to kiss his wife on the cheek. "I'm sure your Mum could murder a cup of tea just now. I know I could."

Harry winked at Hermione, who just glared at him good-naturedly.

"Yes, Hermione, you give me that gorgeous little boy in your arms and Harry can take my bags upstairs," said Catrin Granger, ruffling Celesca's hair where she was gripped, limpet-like, to her thigh. "And then we can _all_ have tea."

"Nanny, _I'll_ make you tea," said Celesca. "I've got it all ready for you in your room. Come on, Daddy. I'll make you tea, too."

"Ah, a day off!" Hermione grinned. "I knew I had children for a reason."

" _I_ don't want tea," said Sophie, haughtily. "But when you are done, Nanny, you can come and see the prettiest Christmas Tree _ever_! It'll be much nicer than any tea."

Celesca poked her tongue at her sister and led Grandma Granger and Harry upstairs to Grandma's room.

"Oh, this is perfect!" said Grandma, happily. "With the tinsel and the flowers...it's just right."

"I picked the flowers," said Celesca, proudly. "And Mummy got a big vase and put some water in it and then I put the flowers in."

"And very pretty they are, too," said Grandma. "Now, where's this tea?"

Harry flicked his wand at the toy stove and there was suddenly a tray with a tea pot and two china cups. Celesca very carefully lifted the tea pot and filled the two cups. She tried not to be too tickled by her Daddy's silent spell when it settled lightly on her. It made sure she didn't burn herself by accident. Then Celesca handed a cup to Grandma and one to Daddy, and took a box of orange juice for herself, because tea was horrible and only grown-ups liked it. Then Daddy swished his wand again and magicked a little bottle of milk, so that Grandma could feed baby James.

Once they'd drunk their tea, and ate all the ginger biscuits from Celesca's oven, they were far too full for anything else, so Celesca climbed up into Grandma's lap to read the story. In it, her Daddy was very brave, saving a very naughty girl from a giant serpent, and when her Mummy woke up - after her Daddy kissed her back to life - they all clapped and cheered, for even Daddy preferred Celesca's pretend version of the story. Even baby James burped happily.

"And we all lived happily ever after," Celesca said, finishing the story and smiling widely. "Daddy - were you very scared of the big snake?"

"Well," Harry began, thoughtfully. "It _was_ a very big snake. All slimy and wriggly. But I knew your Mum would tell me off if I didn't save her, so I thought I ought to, no matter how scary it was."

"Yes, Mummy would have been cross if the snake had eaten her, I think," Celesca nodded, wisely. "I'm glad you saved her."

"So am I," Harry grinned. "Just so she could have three wriggly children with me!"

"I am _not_ wriggly!" Celesca complained.

"But this one is," said Grandma, rocking James gently. "And there's a little girl downstairs who will be very _stompy_ if we don't go down and see the tree she's been working so hard on."

Harry chuckled. "Yes, come on. Let's go and see the tree."

"Ooh, ooh!" Celesca remembered, excitedly. "Sophie said I can put Merlin on top of the tree this year. Daddy, will you help me reach the top?"

"Hmmm, I don't know, you _are_ very wriggly," said Harry, teasingly. "Tell you what, how about I make you _float_ up there?"

" _Oooh!_ Yes, please, Daddy! Will you? _Please?"_

"Alright, but you'll have to ask you Mum the wand movement...I think it's _swish and flick_...but I sometimes get it wrong...and I wouldn't want to drop you on your pretty head, now would I?"


	5. A Present in Pictures

_A Present of Pictures - A Harmony at Home Short_

* * *

Harry and Hermione Potter left the Apparition platforms at the Ysgol y Dewiniaeth gates and made their way down the sloping path to the school. The all girls witches academy was already thronging with other parents collecting their children, and many of them waved cheerily as the Potters joined the crowd. Hermione was scanning the mass for Mrs Longbottom, who was her particular friend, as Harry scouted for their daughters instead.

It was just happy coincidence that they found them stood together.

Mrs Longbottom was holding her new baby and talking to the teacher, Miss Morris, while her daughter Alison played happily with Sophie Potter, the eldest of Harry and Hermione's children. Little Celesca Potter was swaying around on the spot and singing to herself whilst trying to work out which monsters the clouds most looked like.

That was until she spotted Harry.

"Daddy!" she cried, running to him and wrapping herself around his thigh.

Harry scooped up the little blonde haired girl and hugged her tight. "Hey munchkin. Have a good day?"

"Daddy, I am not a munchkin," Celesca complained.

"You weren't a meatball either, but I still think you look like one," Harry teased, tickling his youngest daughter.

Hermione moved to Mrs Longbottom and gave her a hug. "Hi, Ennie. How's little Neville Jnr?"

"Trying," Enola Longbottom replied. "He's lately decided that sleep is for other babies. I was just telling Miss Morris, here, that I'm on the verge of giving him a sleeping draught!"

Hermione laughed, but she wasn't sure if Enola was joking or not. She did look very tired. Hermione turned to Miss Morris.

"Bore da, Miss Morris. "Sut wyt ti?"

"Da iawn, diolch," Miss Morris replied. "Ble mae'ch babi?"

"Gyda fy Mam," Hermione replied. "Nid yw'n cysgu chwaith!"

Both women laughed at that. Miss Morris nodded impressed. "Your Welsh is getting very good now, Mrs Potter. And your accent is improving too. A bit too _Cardiff_ , for my Valleys roots liking, but still much better!"

"Thank you," Hermione laughed. "Sophie and Cesc babble away in Welsh so much at home I thought I'd better try and learn. I'm pretty sure I haven't mastered all their back chat yet, but I'm getting there!"

"Well, I have prepared Sophie's End of Term report," said Miss Morris. "Top of all her classes I'm happy to say. I will miss her when she goes to Hogwarts, that's for certain. Such a bright and pleasant young witch to teach. So eager to learn."

"She gets that from you, Min," said Harry, joining the group. "Bore da, Miss Morris."

"Bore da, Mr Potter," Miss Morris smiled. "And I look forward to getting this one next year."

She grinned at Celesca, who tucked shyly into Harry's shoulder. She was due to join the Upper Primary School in the next year and was not looking forward to it. Harry laughed at that.

"Well, Miss Morris, if you can manage to stun her to silence so easily, I insist you share the secret with me!" Harry joked. "This is the quietest she's been in three years!"

Hermione laughed as she came up and stroked her daughter's hair. "Come on then, let's get to London then."

"London?" Harry queried. "Why are we going to London?"

"You promised, Dad, don't you remember?" said Sophie, coming up with Alison. "You said that if I was top in all my classes at the end of the year you'd take me to London to watch a movie in the Odeon."

"Oh yes, I did, didn't I?" said Harry.

"You could have just done what that Betelgeuse man did," Celesca pointed out. "And made Sophie dance in the air. Not that she's a very good dancer."

"I'm the best dancer!" Sophie complained. "Better than you, anyway."

Celesca just poked her tongue at her sister safe, as she was, in the arms of her father.

"No, Daddy, a promise is a promise," said Hermione haughtily. "Besides, I've already made us a reservation in Chinatown. I have a hankering for Shredded Crispy Beef."

"Ooh, me too, Mummy!" Sophie cried, licking her lips. "And I'm going to have spring rolls and prawn crackers and noodles with beansprouts."

"You can have whatever you like, sweetie," Hermione beamed. "You've earned it."

"Ooh, can I have a cake that looks like a pig, too? They're my favourite."

"Won't you want popcorn in the cinema too?" asked Hermione. "You don't want to be too full."

"I wont be, Mummy, but I want a little bit of everything," said Sophie.

"Can I have popcorn too, Daddy," asked Celesca, sweetly. "When Nanny and Bampi Granger took me to see _Frozen_ they wouldn't let me. I had to have sugar free lemon drops and they were just _not_ the same!"

Harry laughed. "I'll buy you some popcorn. Just don't tell anyone, it'll be our secret."

Celesca beamed widely, and made Harry pinky swear on his promise.

An hour later saw the Potter family emerge from the Ministry of Magic Muggle exit and onto the streets of London. Harry and Hermione hadn't used The Leaky Cauldron exit in years, as almost everyone wanted to talk to them if they went to the old pub. They didn't mind so much, but it was hard enough to get little Celesca to stay quiet at the best of times, it was near impossible when everyone wanted to babble along with her.

So they found themselves in that part of Muggle London called Whitehall, and had to hop a few stops on the London Underground to reach Leicester Square. Celesca was like her Dad, and loved the underground train network. Her favourite bit was tapping the little plastic card onto the sensor to open the gate which led to the platform. Her Daddy called it an _Oyster Card_ , which confused little Celesca, as it didn't _look_ like an oyster. Come to think of it, she didn't know what an _oyster_ actually looked like. It might be a sort of Muggle monster, which got Celesca all sorts of excited.

Because she loved monsters and was dying to meet a real one.

Once they had a fun ride on the underground train, they headed back up the stairs and onto the street. Hermione gripped Sophie's hand very tightly, while Harry cast a clever _Rein Charm_ on Celesca, which meant she couldn't go more than three feet from him. This was because she was going through a phase of madly running in any direction she fancied, with not much mind for where she might be going.

This was fine at home, but if Celesca raced into a passing Red London Bus, then bounced off like a rubber ball on account of Harry's protective magic, it would give their secret away to everyone. And neither Mr or Mrs Potter wanted to have to explain that to the Men at the Ministry. They were getting tired of paying Magical Reversal Squad fines for such accidents.

Hermione didn't like the Rein Charm at all. "Harry, hold her hand, won't you? If she hits the end of the Charm and falls over, it will look suspicious."

"Relax, Min," Harry replied calmly. "Once Cesc falls the first time, she'll come grizzling to me. Then I'll kiss her scuffed knees better and she'll walk quietly by my side _without prompting_. Trust me, only reverse psychology will work with our little Seer."

Hermione shook her head in doubt. Sophie turned her haughty expression to her mother. "I wont run off, Mummy. I'll stay right here and be good."

"That's right, sweetie, you will," said Hermione firmly. "Because there are too many Muggles out here. I don't want to lose you. I'd miss you."

"You wont lose me, Mummy," said Sophie confidently, squeezing Hermione's hand. Then her eyes lit up. "Ooh, look, there's a sale at the Lego store. Can we…"

"No," Hermione cut her off brusquely. "But if you're very good, I'll let you pick a new set for your birthday."

"Ooh, will you!" Sophie chimed. "I'll be good, Mummy, I promise. I'll be the _best_."

The Chinatown dinner was very nice, and at the end of it all the Potters felt a little fatter than before they'd went in. Sophie and Celesca spent a good ten minutes discussing how fat Harry was getting, while Hermione whispered to him that all it meant was that there was simply more of him to love. Then Hermione and Sophie went to browse in the Lego store, while Harry and Celesca got an early look at the films being shown in the big cinema that night.

On the way, they passed a man doing magic in the street and Celesca dragged Harry to watch. There was a big crowd there, and most people clapped at the tricks, but Celesca was not impressed.

"Daddy, that isn't _real_ magic, is it?" she asked, a cute little frown on her face.

"What makes you say that?" asked Harry.

"I can hear in his mind," said Celesca matter-of-factly. "He's hoping no-one can spot his false sleeve, or the trick bottom to his box. I'll go and tell him, I think."

"No you don't, Miss Potter," said Harry, yanking her back as she made to stomp away.

"But Daddy…he's _cheating!"_

Harry eyed her curiously. "I saw you playing _Battleships_ with Sophie last night. You didn't miss a single one."

"Yes…and?" Celesca asked innocently.

"Did you read your sister's mind?"

Celesca shifted guiltily. "No, Daddy."

"Truth?"

"Truth."

"Pinky swear?" Harry smirked.

"Will you cut off my pinky if I lie?" Celesca queried.

"Yes," said Harry solemnly.

"That's not very nice, Daddy!" Celesca cried.

"Neither is using your special magic to win a game against your sister!" Harry laughed. "Now who was _cheating?_ "

"But that was only a game," said Celesca blithely. "He's pretending for _real."_

"It cant be real, if its just pretend," said Harry, sagely. "But, how do you know he cant do magic _for real_? Maybe he's just doing a little bit, so he can make some money."

"But he's cheating," Celesca insisted. "I could show you, if you like."

"But maybe he's doing that on purpose, too," Harry pointed out. "Don't forget, I'm a magical policeman. If he was doing _actual_ magic in front of Muggles, I could arrest him and send him to jail."

"So you think he's doing pretend magic, but making it _look_ like real magic, only it's pretend?"

"Maybe," said Harry. "But he's not hurting anyone and it's fun to watch."

"Yes it is," Celesca agreed, nodding enthusiastically. "I suppose that's okay then. Come on, Daddy. We need to pick a film."

By the time Harry and Celesca reached the foyer of the giant Odeon in Leicester Square, Hermione and Sophie were already there. Harry frowned at Hermione, who had given in and bought Sophie a Lego Superheroes set.

"What?" Hermione queried in a whisper as the family unit reunited. "Miss Morris told me Sophie scored a hundred-and-twelve percent on one of her tests…that deserves a reward in my book."

Harry grinned at that. "Okay, you win. But I'm not dressing up as Spider-man again. Last time I looked like a _Father For Justice_ and thought social services were going to come knocking on the door!"

Hermione laughed at that and gave Harry a swift, amorous peck on the cheek while Sophie's head was turned. She absolutely _did not_ approve of her parents being so kissy-kissy in public. It was bad enough at home, where they could be found locked together more often than a pair of magnets.

"So, which film will it be girls?" Harry asked.

"Oh, look at that!" Sophie exclaimed. "Look, Daddy! They've made a film about you! It must be from where that horrible Squib, Miss Rowling, stole your life story notes from Rita Skeeter. Do you remember that, Daddy?"

"Yes, I remember," Harry frowned, crossly.

"Oh, look, Daddy!" little Celesca giggled wildly. "They've had to change your name, see, for the film… _Larry Trotter and the Sorcerers Stone!"_

 _"Sorcerer's stone_?" Hermione scoffed. "What…don't they think people know what a philosopher is?"

"Larry Trotter!" Sophie continued to giggle.

Sophie and Celesca fell about in mad hysterics. They even tried out their names with the new surname…and decided it was too funny to dislike. Even Hermione grinned at it, as Harry silently fumed. Hermione stepped forward to read the flyer blurb about the film.

 _"Follow the magical adventures of Larry Trotter on his first year at Pigsboil School for Witches and Wizards. Join his friends, Bob Beasley and stuffy bookworm Jean Puckle,"_ Stuffy bookworm? Honestly?, " _as they battle the Dark forces of Lord VolAuVent. Fall in love as Larry meets his destined soulmate, Jenny Beasley -_ " no, sorry, kids. You are _never_ seeing this movie."

Harry laughed out loud as Hermione scowled nastily, then tore up the flyer and stuffed it into the nearest bin.

"Good, _Star Wars_ it is then!" Harry smirked.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but conceded. They approached the electronic ticket booth, and allowed Celesca - who was a tactile sort of child - to place the order onto the touch-screen, under Sophie's watchful eye. Then they moved onto the snack section, where Celesca got very upset and burst into tears at the Pick n Mix area. It was hard to make a fulfilling selection of sweets when you were only six, little, and could only reach the bottom shelf. Luckily, Harry cast a swift _Obscuring Charm_ , floated Celesca to her choices, and watched as she giggled happily, doing loop-the-loops while reaching for some jelly crocodiles.

Then they entered the cinema and sat at the very back. Then Sophie turned to Harry as the trailers came on.

"Daddy…you know how Disney makes _Star Wars_ and _Frozen_ now?"

"I do," said Harry, mutinously.

"Well, does that mean that Elsa can fly the Millennium Falcon and Olaf can get a lightsaber, now?" she asked, curiously.

"Never say never, honey," Harry fumed. "Anything is possible in _Star Wars: Episode 19: The Death of a Franchise_."

"As long as there's no Jar Jar Binks in this one," Hermione moaned. "I will literally walk out, I swear to Merlin. I might prefer _Larry Trotter_ to _that_ rubbish!"

"Even with _Jenny Beasley?"_ Harry teased.

"Shut up, Harry," Hermione grinned back. "No talking in the cinema."

"Yes, Mum," said Harry, before cuddling his daughters either side of him.


	6. What's Daddy Brewing?

One of Hermione Potter's favourite places in her nice house was her office. It was big, had lots of important things in it, and was handy to be able to work from when she didn't feel like travelling all the way down to London. She didn't like the big city very much, and it was always too full of busy people. She much preferred to work from home, where she could keep an eye on things, and she could always play with her kneazle, Mimi, if she got tired of working.

It had become especially useful when she and Harry decided to bring babies into their little family unit. When Harry was a member of Magical Law Enforcement's Field department, he was often sent away on very dangerous jobs to arrest nasty wizards who had broken the law. It was no place for babies. But because Hermione and Harry wanted to become the best Mother and Father they could be, Hermione had Harry help her build an office at home, so that she could carry on doing her important work for the Ministry of Magic and look after their little babies at the same time.

Soon enough, Harry decided he had arrested enough bad wizards for the time being, so he started working in an office, too, and sending other people to do the arresting for him. But Harry missed his wife and babies far too much, so eventually decided to build an office at home too, so he could help out around the house and he and Hermione could raise their family in the best way they could think of… _together_.

But Hermione's home office was bigger and had a lovely view of the big garden and the valleys beyond. It was very pretty, and it became one of Hermione's favourite things, to sit with Harry and their babies in the bay window and just look at it, while Harry sang lullabies or tickled whichever one of their unlucky children he decided on grabbing at the time. Later on, Harry had put up a swing and a long slide and a trampoline so that their girls could play outside and Hermione could watch them through the window while she worked.

This particular weekend was a 'working' weekend for Hermione. She tried to explain this to little Celesca, who was on the verge of getting upset that Hermione didn't want to eat ice cream with her, or listen to a story she'd made up about dragons with liquorice wands for teeth, or to spend the day hunting for the creatures in the cupboard or the ghoul under the bed.

But the idea of a 'working weekend' set Celesca's imagination on fire. She decided that every other weekend must have been broken, if this one was the only one that was working. She skipped off happily, eager to see how this would play out, thinking that if the weekend was working properly, maybe the monster, who she was sure lived in the pond at the bottom of the garden, would come out to play with her finally.

She was _very_ excited by this prospect.

Her older sister, Sophie, meanwhile, had decided she was going to set a new record for _everything_ that day. Her first record was going to be building the biggest tower of Lego in the world. So she got out all her blocks and tipped them onto the floor of Hermione's office, just as her mother had begun to read some reports she'd just been sent that day.

"Sophie, sweetheart, can't you do that in the living room?" asked Hermione patiently. "Mummy has to work today."

"Oh, I'll be very quiet, Mummy," Sophie promised faithfully. "But when I make the biggest tower of Lego _ever_ , you'll have to measure it and send it to the Men at Lego for their record books. And you ought to take a picture and send it to _The Daily Prophet_ and _Junior Sorceress_ , too. I'm sure they will want to know."

"I'm sure," Hermione agreed with a little smile.

Then Hermione went back to her reports. But they were hard to read, because the _click click_ of the Lego bricks snapping together kept disturbing her. She took a breath to be patient, and rocked little baby James, who was in a bouncy rocking seat on the desk next to her. He cooed and gurgled contentedly and that made Hermione happy.

Then Celesca came in.

She saw Sophie building her tower, which was up to her shoulder by now. "What are you making?" she asked sweetly.

"The tallest Lego tower _ever_ ," Sophie replied proudly.

"Can I help?"

"No!" Sophie snapped crossly.

"Can I watch?" asked Celesca.

"You can watch, but you have to sit all the way over there," Sophie frowned, pointing to the very far end of the room. "And don't touch anything."

"What about these two bricks?" Celesca asked innocently, picking two up from the pile. "Can I play with them?"

"No!" Sophie snapped again, trying to snatch the bricks from her sister's hand. "I _need_ them. Besides, these are _my_ toys."

"Mummy, can I play with the Lego?" Celesca implored to Hermione. "I only want these two pieces see?"

She held them up to illustrate her case.

Hermione sighed deeply, and put her reports down once again. "Sophie, can't your sister just have two blocks?"

"No, I need them _all_ ," Sophie replied stubbornly.

"But isn't it nice to share?"

"No. It isn't."

Hermione frowned at Sophie, then looked over at Celesca, who was stretching on tip-toe next to the Lego Tower.

"Look, see, I'm helping," Celesca beamed, struggling to connect the Lego bricks in her _very_ stretched arms to the topmost piece of the tower, wobbling a little on her dainty toes.

"No! Get away!" cried Sophie, who snatched at the bricks again, but actually pushed Celesca into the tower, which came crashing down to the ground. Both girl and tower hit the wooden floor. The tower shattered, and Celesca bumped her knee and began to cry.

"Sophie! Say sorry," Hermione demanded, as she got up to tend to Celesca's bruise.

"Sorry? Why? _She_ did it. She's ruined everything!"

"She was only trying to help," said Hermione.

"I don't want her help! It was _my_ tower!"

"Can't you just play nicely together?" Hermione begged. "I have a lot of important work to do today."

"No, I don't want to play with _her!_ " said Sophie crossly.

"Well then, I think you'd better go and play in the garden," said Hermione sternly. "If you cant be nice in the house."

So Sophie stormed off. Hermione gave Celesca's knee a little kiss, told off the floor for being so nasty as to hurt her, and Celesca was soon as right as rain. She trotted off like a bundle of energy, thinking that playing in the garden was a _very_ good idea. Hermione was pleased that everything was sorted out now and pulled back her papers again, to read all about a new help centre for witches who were having babies for the first time.

Out in the garden, Sophie was using the swing. She scowled as Celesca came over to her.

"Go away. I'm playing here."

"You're swinging," said Celesca fairly. "I'm going to have a go on the slide."

"I'm on the swing _now_ ," said Sophie. "But when I've swung the highest any witch has ever swung _ever_ , then _I'm_ going to go on the slide, and slide _faster_ than any witch ever has. So _you_ cant play on it."

"But can I play on it till you are finished swinging, then we can swap?" asked Celesca.

"No, because you might break the slide. You always ruin everything," said Sophie, waspishly.

"I do not."

"Yes, you do," said Sophie. "Now go away. I cant swing as high when _you're_ watching, cos you spoil it. And I reckon I can swing over the _moon_."

"I don't spoil anything," Celesca protested. "I want to see you swing. I don't think you can swing over the moon. No-one can."

" _I can_ ," said Sophie arrogantly. "Watch this!"

So she swung and swung and went higher and higher. But just as she was getting very, _very_ high, Mimi the Kneazle darted out from under a bush, chasing a mouse that she'd found there. Without thinking, little Celesca raced off in pursuit and didn't look where she was running…and she ran right in front of the swing…

"Oof! Ouch! Owwwww!"

Celesca cried out as Sophie came speeding towards her and hit her right in the face with her feet. She couldn't stop. Hermione, hearing the high-pitched screeching, came rushing out of the house at once, to find Sophie cradling her sister's head, which was bleeding quite badly as Celesca cried and cried.

"I'm sorry, Mummy, I couldn't stop!" Sophie begged.

"What have you been doing!" Hermione demanded crossly.

"I didn't mean to!" Sophie plead, tears welling in her eyes, too. "She was chasing Mimi and just ran in my way."

"There, there," Hermione cooed, scooping up Celesca into her arms. She cleaned the blood with a little flick of her wand and took away the pain with a clever little spell too, that Sophie didn't even hear.

Celesca stopped crying at once. "My teeth are broken!" she moaned. "Will I have to go to Nanna and Bampi to get them fixed?"

Hermione chuckled. "No, sweetie, just don't tell them I used magic on your teeth to fix them. You know how cross they get about that."

A deft spell later and all the damage was gone. Celesca's pretty smile was as good as new. Hermione sat her daughters down next to each other and looked at each one in turn. "Now, who's going to tell me what happened?"

"It was an accident, Mummy," said Celesca quickly. "I was trying to catch Mimi and I ran in front of the swing. Don't tell Sophie off. It wasn't her fault."

Hermione smiled. "So it was _Mimi's_ fault, was it? Okay. I will only feed her dog treats for being so silly and causing so much uproar. How about that?"

"Okay!" Sophie and Celesca chimed, grinning at each other that they'd got out of trouble.

"Now," Hermione went on. "I think we need to find you somewhere to play where you cant get into more trouble, and so I can get some work done. I will get told off if I don't do it, you know."

"I don't want you to get told off, Mummy," said Celesca mournfully, hugging Hermione tight.

"No, we're sorry, Mummy. We'll be good. Promise."

"Hmmm, I don't think we can take the chance," said Hermione shrewdly. "Where's your father? Have you seen him?"

"He's in his Dungeon, Mummy," said Sophie. "He's with Uncle Neville, remember?"

"Ah, of course," Hermione grinned. "Come on girls, it's time your Daddy did some _Daddying_ today."

The Potter sisters jumped up and followed their mother back through the house, after she checked in on sleepy baby James one more time. They wound their way past the kitchen and the pantry, the alchemy room and the library, the living room and dining room, and the _second_ library where Hermione put all her books that couldn't fit in her first library.

Then they went down the long spooky staircase, that creaked and groaned, until they reached Harry's Dungeon.

It wasn't _really_ a dungeon, it was more like a cellar. There were rows and rows of wine bottles, and cases of brandy and port and all the other weird drinks grown-ups liked, but that little girls weren't allowed, but tried to sneak a bit of anyway when the grown-ups weren't looking. It was also the place that Harry and Neville came to make beer on the last Saturday of every month, which just happened to be today.

"Oh, hello, love," said Harry, as the door to the Brew Dungeon opened. "Girls…everything okay?"

"Your daughters are getting into all sorts of bother without you," Hermione confessed in a solemn voice. "Getting kicked in the face and breaking Lego skyscrapers. And Mummy just cant juggle all the drama and work at the same time. So I think Daddy needs to step up."

"But Daddy is _working_ …" Harry offered rather weakly.

"Here you go, Harry. The Plum Porter is ready…" said Neville, emerging from the gloom with two foaming tankards of dark beer. Then his face fell guiltily. "Oh…hello, Hermione…er…how's your day going?"

"Fine…now," Hermione frowned. "Work, work and more work. You know how it is. And as _Mummy's_ sort of work will actually pay the bills, I'm leaving our little cherubs to their Daddy for the day. Have fun."

And with that, Hermione turned on her haughty heel and sashayed away from the room.

Harry looked down at his wide-eyed, expectant children. "Well…I'm sure we can find _something_ for you to do.."

Then the door opened again. Hermione had returned with baby James in his high chair. She placed him gently next to Harry's work bench, then kissed him on the head, winked wickedly at Harry, and sauntered away again.

"Daddy, what are you doing today?" asked Sophie.

"Well, we _were_ going to make beer," said Harry.

"We can help!" cried Celesca enthusiastically. "We can make beer. I think. Soph… _what is_ beer?"

"It's a drink with naughty things in it that grown-ups like, because it makes them be very loud and dance a lot," said Sophie sagely.

"Oh, that sounds fun. We should definitely help you make it, Daddy. It would be for the best, I think."

"Hmm. The problem is, the first rule of Home Brewing states: 'Always _drink_ a home brew while _making_ a home brew'. And little girls aren't allowed home brewed beer. Or any beer, actually."

"Hey, Harry," said Neville mischievously. "How about non-alcoholic _cider_?"

"Nev…that's just apple juice…" said Harry, then understanding hit. "Ah…that's _perfect_!"

Harry flicked his wand and conjured two glasses of apple juice, with ice and straws and cocktail umbrellas, then handed one each to Sophie and Celesca.

"Right, girls, you can do some weighing, can't you?" asked Harry.

"Yes, Daddy!" they chorused.

"I weigh the best flour for cakes," said Sophie proudly.

"And I always count out the right amount of sultanas," Celesca added. "I do _love_ sultanas."

"Excellent," said Harry. "Right then, Uncle Nev will put two big bags of grain on table. I want you to grab a scale each, and measure out exactly one-and-a-half kilos of each one. Got it?"

The girls nodded and rushed off to get the sets of weighing scales. They had a silent row over who was going to use the new one or the old one, deciding in the end by a game of _rock, paper, scissors,_ which Celesca used her Seer skills to cheat at and win. Then they set to work measuring out the grain. Sophie was concentrating very hard, which meant she poked her tongue out and closed her left eye, which was her little thing when she was thinking a lot.

Celesca spilt most of her grain at first, as the scoop was too big for her. So she brushed up the little pile of dust and husks and put them onto the tray in front of baby James, who ate them happily while babbling away in baby language and overseeing everything.

Soon all the grain had been collected and Harry and Uncle Neville put it carefully into the big cauldron in the corner of the dungeon. Sophie had to hold Celesca nice and still, as the water in the cauldron was very hot, and if it splashed onto them it would burn. But soon Harry had all the grain in the water, so he mixed it around really well until he was happy. Then they just had to wait. It smelled like baking and bread and porridge, and for a while they just sat there without talking and enjoyed it. Celesca closed her eyes and sucked as much of the yummy smell up her nose as she could manage.

Then Harry had an idea.

"You know, girls, seeing how Mummy was very cross with me, and she's been ever so busy with work today, how about we make her some surprise wine?" he suggested.

"Oh, _yes_ , Daddy!" Sophie chirped. "Mummy does like wine ever so much. The red ones are her favourite. They make her cheeks go all pink and she talks funny, which I like because it makes me laugh so much."

"Is it like making beer?" asked Celesca. "Do I have to get the scoop again, because I just washed it and you should have said if I needed it again."

"No, honey, it isn't like making beer," said Harry. "Though you will need to take off your shoes and socks."

"Why's that, Daddy?" asked Sophie, kicking off her little white flats.

"Well you see, to make wine, you need lots and lots of grapes," Harry explained.

"Like the ones you grow on the vines in the big back garden?" asked Celesca.

"Yes, those ones," Harry confirmed. "Once we pick all the grapes we need, what we have to do then is get the juice out of them. And the best way to do that, is to _stomp_ on them!"

"Stomp on them?" Celesca cried, sounding delighted at the prospect. She tugged excitedly at her little yellow socks.

"I'll be good at this, as I'm a very good stomper," said Sophie confidently.

"Yes you are," Harry agreed with a chuckle. "You both stomp enough to be professionals at it!"

"Here you go then, little stompers," said Neville, grinning. "Come over here."

He poured several big sacks of grapes into a huge round tub, which had a little spout on the end. Then he lifted Sophie inside, while Harry did the same with Celesca. The girls hitched up their skirts, then began stamping and stomping on all the grapes they could reach. The dark little fruits squelched deliciously under their heels and between their toes, making them laugh and giggle.

"Eww, that was a fat one!" Sophie laughed, as a grape exploded with a satisfying _pop_ beneath her.

"Look, if you dance on them, they squash even better!" Celesca giggled.

So they started dancing. The vat was big enough to do _do-si-dos_ , and spin with linked arms, and Celesca was little enough to do a sort of frenzied _can-can._ Soon enough, all the grapes were completely squashed. So Harry opened a valve on the spout and collected all the juice in a big glass jar, sprinkled some yeast on top of it, then set it aside to bubble away till it was ready.

"Mummy will be ever so pleased we made her wine," said Sophie happily, watching the yeast fall to the bottom of the glass jar.

"When will it be ready, Daddy?" asked Celesca.

"It will be a few weeks I'm afraid," said Harry. "In the meantime, how about we take your Mummy a glass of wine from a batch I made before?"

"Ooh yes, she'll like that," Celesca nodded. "I don't think she really wants to be working today."

Sophie agreed. "Daddy, I think you should go and tell Mummy to stop working, then we can all go and sit in the garden in the sun, with our beer and wine and cider with no naughty bits in for me and Cesc. Then I can push Cesc really high on the swing, and you can watch to see if she goes over the moon."

Harry laughed at that. "I think that's a wonderful idea. Come on, let's go and tell your mother all about our little plan. I'm sure she'll be _over the moon_ about it too."

And, as I'm sure you can guess, Mrs Potter really was.


	7. 40 Clues

For the longest time, Harry refused to believe it. After all, this day happened _every_ year. It was as predictable as a Quartz movement, occurring every twelve months - on the dot - at the very end of July. So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to _anybody_ that it was approaching fast, as the Summer drew on. It just didn’t make any _sense_.

After all, they’d never forgotten Harry’s _birthday_ before …

But as unthinkable as it was, it appeared that this was _precisely_ what had happened.

It started on Monday morning. Harry was sat reading _The Daily Prophet_ and enjoying his first strong coffee of the day. Hermione was double-checking that their daughter’s school bags were properly packed. Sophie had Quidditch practice that day, so she had to have her special dragonhide gloves, while little Celesca had been chosen to help model the school uniform of _Ethel Hallow’s Witches Preparatory Academy,_ where she was always one of the best-turned out little witches. Celesca was so excited, so Hermione had charmed some pretty little bows for her to weave into her blonde hair, when the time came for her catwalk début later.

Harry watched it all and marvelled at how fortunate he was. He looked at his beautiful wife, his adorable children - the third of whom burped and babbled away in his high chair as if on cue - even their black-and-white kneazle, Mimi, who was pawing prissily at her little red bowl of milk in the corner of the kitchen. All in all, he had very much won at life in his opinion.

That’s when things started to take a turn for the concerning.

Sophie kicked things off, by turning to Harry as she finished her cereal, and addressed her father seriously.

“Now, Daddy, you know how important a day it is on Saturday,” she began. “So, I have to ask you a question.”

Harry folded his paper and grinned at his eldest girl. What was she going to ask? What sort of present did he want? Would be prefer a new tie or nice pair of cufflinks? What flavour cake should they bake for his party?

But she didn’t ask any of those things.

Instead she said, “Can I stay at Alison Longbottom’s house? She’s asked her Mum and she said it was okay.”

Harry frowned at her slightly. “But don’t you think that would be a bit inappropriate, considering what day it is? Wouldn’t you rather be here with your old Dad?”

“No … should I be?” Sophie queried, puzzled. “What’s it got to do with you?”

“Well, I would have thought _that_ was obvious!”

“Really? How has me and Alison buying our first _training bras_ got anything to do with _you?_ ”

Harry nearly spat out his mouthful of coffee. “Excuse me? You’re doing _what_?”

“Oh, Daddy, don’t be such an old prude,” Sophie cooed sympathetically. “It had to happen someday. So Ally and I decided we would do it this Saturday. It’s not like there’s anything else going on, is there?”

Harry coughed and spluttered and looked at his daughter, who simply fluttered her eyelashes sweetly and innocently back at him. Harry looked to Hermione in a desperate plea for support.

“Er, Mummy, back me up on this will you?” Harry begged. “This sort of thing is _far_ too soon, isn’t it?”

“What … boobs and bras?” Hermione replied simply, which caused Celesca to erupt in little giggles at the breakfast table. “Of course not. Sophie is a growing girl. I had my first bra when I was eleven, and our little cherub isn’t far off that herself now. I think it’s a very grown-up thing to do.”

“Grown up! _Grown up!”_ Harry protested lowly. “She’s _ten_! She's just a little girl!”

“And now she needs to start thinking about big girl underwear,” Hermione pointed out patiently.

“But … but … _bras?_ Really?”

“Dont worry, Daddy, _I_ don’t have any boobies yet … or do I? They might have come today,” Celesca began soothingly, only to look down her school blouse to check. “No, I don’t. I’ll be your bestest daughter now, Daddy. Don’t worry about Sophie.”

Hermione looked fondly between her youngest girl and her husband, who seemed on the verge of a full emotional collapse.

“I’ll _always_ be Daddy’s best daughter, because I was here _first_ and I’ve been doing it longer!” Sophie protested, scowling at her younger sister.

“That just means you’ve been doing it _wrong_ longer!” Celesca returned smoothly. Then she poked her tongue out at Sophie, as Hermione offset a row with a stern look at both her daughters.

Harry rubbed his chin and the back of his neck, his worry about his forgotten birthday bluntly replaced by _this_ new concern. Blimey, where was the time going? His oldest child was becoming a proto-woman. Harry wanted to stop time for a little bit, just to enjoy her being a child for a few years longer. Maybe Luna knew of something in the Department of Mysteries that could help. He’d have to ask her.

But then Hermione jolted Harry back to the moment, and his previous problem took centre stage again.

“Yes, Soph, you may stay at the Longbottom’s,” Hermione announced. “Mrs Longbottom and I are going to _Sally-Anne’s Salon_ for the day anyway. I need to get my French manicure touched up.”

Harry snapped his head to his wife. “You’re doing that on Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“ _This_ Saturday?”

“Yes. Why? Have I forgotten something?”

“I think you _might_ have!” Harry replied in pointed amusement.

Hermione frowned and moved to the calendar on pinboard near the fridge. She ran her forefinger down across the dates.

“No, I don’t think I have, honey. Thursday is Bin Day, Friday is End-of-Year Parent’s Evening for Sophie - make sure you aren’t working late for that, Harry - then Saturday … nope, nothing happening then.”

“It’s July the Thirty-First!” Harry cried incredulously.

Hermione scrunched her nose as she thought. Then she lit up and exclaimed, “Oh, of course! How could I have forgotten!?”

“Yes … how _could_ you?” Harry guffawed, relaxing back into his chair.

“I have to take _A Brief History of Time_ back to the library!” Hermione declared. “You know, it wasn’t as _brief_ as the title suggests. Thanks for reminding me, sweetheart.”

Hermione crossed to Harry and kissed him on the head as he stared at her in disbelief. Before he had time to answer though, Hermione had bundled Sophie and Celesca out of the door, wrestled baby James into his carry-cot and left Harry quite alone wondering what was going on.

Things didn’t get much better over the next week. There was no mention of Harry’s birthday on Tuesday, and on Wednesday - when Sophie went out to buy a present - it was only a huge box of Chocolate Frogs to give to her favourite teacher at her Parent’s Evening. On Thursday, even people at _work_ were talking about their plans for Saturday ... and not one mentioned his birthday as part of them. The England vs Morocco Quidditch match was being played in London, and half the Ministry seemed to be going. Harry, though, couldn’t get a ticket.

“Sorry, mate,” Neville apologised as Harry went to his office to try and nab a ticket for the match. “I just gave away the last pair to the Malfoys. I cant _wait_ to go, it’s going to be some party with all of us there. Anyway, aren’t you babysitting on Saturday? Ennie and Hermione are having a spa day, aren’t they?”

“Oh yeah,” Harry grumbled. “But my Sophie said she’s staying with your Ally on Saturday. That means _you_ cant go to the Quidditch.”

“Ally and Soph will be fine,” Neville beamed. “My Gran will look after them. She’s not _completely_ senile just yet!”

Harry frowned at him.

“What is it, mate? You look troubled.”

“I am. Do you know what day the thirty-first is?”

“Yeah … it’s _Saturday_.”

“And that’s it? Nothing else interesting about that date?”

Neville scratched his balding head as he thought. “Nothing springs to mind. But I never was any good at _dates_ … that’s why I was so lucky to manage to snag Enola as a wife!”

“Very funny,” Harry frowned.

“You look pale, Harry. Why don’t you take a half day? Go home and have a lie down. Truly, you don’t look well. You seem to be lacking your usual _forty-tude_.”

Harry pinged his eyes to his old friend. “What did you say?”

“I just said you don’t look well,” Neville replied blandly. “It’s not like you. Go on home. I’ll go up to your office and tell everyone you’ve gone.”

“Okay. Thanks, Nev. I appreciate that.”

“I forty you might,” Neville nodded expressionlessly. “Bye, Harry.”

And then he swept away. Harry rubbed his aching temples and decided he needed to rest. He was hearing things again. That always meant he wasn’t sleeping. He had been working a lot lately, on a special project with Hermione, and he was burning the candle at both ends. Perhaps a few days off was just the tonic.

Especially if even _he’d_ forgotten when his birthday was …

On Saturday, when the un-remember-ed day arrived, Harry woke to a very quiet house. He was immediately concerned, as Celesca was going through a phase of being suspicious about the milkman, who brought them a dozen eggs with their milk delivery every few days. She point-blank refused to believe this was an amicable arrangement, and was led to further dubiousness by events at her last birthday party.

For Hermione had hired an entertainer - Coco the Clown - and part of his act was juggling with eggs. The problem was he was a very clumsy clown, and a very poor juggler, and he dropped an egg, much to the horrified gasps of the assembled party of children. Disaster was averted when the egg _bounced_ , however. The other children clapped, but Celesca - who had a peculiar relationship with eggs that didn’t behave as they were supposed to - was suspicious.

So now, whenever the milkman delivered eggs to the Potter Household, Celesca got up early and snuck downstairs to investigate. Harry was often woken by his daughter’s little voice in the kitchen, repeating, _“no … no … no …_ ” as she ‘tested’ every egg for its _bounce-ability_ … and she soon became little ' _Celesca Island'_ at the middle of ' _Yolk Lake'_ …

But today, there was no such smashing sound. In fact, there was no sound at all. Harry was stirred to excitement, wondering if his little family was hiding downstairs and about to give him a surprise birthday breakfast. Yes! That would be it! He’d got them! But he had to play along, like a good Dad. So he dressed quietly, hitched his disappointed face back on and made his way downstairs.

But there was no gaudy banner, no eruption of ‘ _Surprise!’_ as he entered the kitchen, no pile of presents next to a pile of bacon and sausages (they hadn’t had eggs for breakfast in months, obviously). In fact, the house was completely empty.

For the first time, Harry felt mildly concerned. He searched the house for his family, but they weren’t in _either_ of Hermione’s libraries, nor the living room or the music room. The cellar was empty, the shed bare, even the vast gardens were populated only by pretty plants. There was no sign of either of Harry’s pretty girls or his even prettier wife.

Where in the world could they be?

It was as Harry was walking back down the hall that he received his first clue. Little did he know it would be the first of many. He was ambling back towards the kitchen when he saw, right there pinned to the door of the cupboard under the stairs, a letter in heavy parchment … a letter with _his_ name on it, written in emerald green ink!

_To Mr H. Potter_

_C/o his first bedroom (sort of)_

_Potter Manor_

_Brecon Valley_

_South Wales._

Grinning widely, Harry grabbed the letter and tore it open. The letter inside was made of a similarly heavy parchment, but the handwriting was the undoubted neat calligraphy of his playful wife. So Harry read in deep curiosity.

_Dear Mr Potter._

_I regret to inform you that your beautiful wife and children have been kidnapped by Forty Naughty Fairies, who are threatening to tickle them to death if you cannot solve a very complicated riddle they have posed for you. But - as we know you conquer ‘Riddles’ for fun - this should be easy for you._

_To begin the quest to save your wife, she says you must start at the ‘First Date’. Good luck!”_

The letter wasn’t signed. Harry read it again, trying not to grin too deeply. _The First Date_ , Harry thought. That could only mean one thing.

Harry bounded upstairs to the bedroom he shared with his wife. In his wardrobe, he kept a _Memory Chest_. He knew Hermione had one too, and inside they stored important tokens of their life and relationship together. It was Harry’s idea, and the first thing he put in his was a calendar of the year they’d first started going out. Finding the _first date_ on that would be easy.

“January the first,” Harry thought aloud, flicking to the appropriate page. “Obviously the _first_ date … but also when we had _our_ first date!”

Harry traced the date hungrily with his eyes, and remembered how trembly and nervous he’d been that night. But it all worked out perfectly in the end. As Harry looked at the page, he noticed the swirly mist of a memory embedded into the page. Curious, Harry drew his wand and pulled the memory from the calendar. It was Hermione, revolving as if in a music box.

Then she spoke. “Harry - you have to help us! These fairies just _love_ to tickle us! Here is your next clue - if I wanted to make a _very_ big dog sleepy, I’d probably play him Mozart!”

And then the little Hermione vanished as the memory faded. Harry frowned. What on _Earth_ did that mean?

“Big dog? Sleepy? Mozart?” Harry mused. “What does that … oh, hold on? A big dog? Could that be … _Fluffy?_ But what does she mean about Mozart? Oh … _of course_! Very clever wifey!”

Harry smiled again and reached into a storage trunk on top of the wardrobe. He fished around inside and found one of his first ever presents - a flute whittled for him by Hagrid. He took it out, and gave it a _toot, toot_.

And a hidden attic door opened in the ceiling.

“My _Magic Flute_ indeed!” Harry chortled.

Then Harry clambered into the attic. The sight he found made him gasp and grin at the same time. A large Devil’s Snare was taking up most of the space - probably courtesy of Neville, Harry thought - and wrapped in one of its tendrils was a shining silver key. On a dresser next to it was Hermione’s Memory Chest. Harry was filled with a very old memory himself, which broadened his smile as he cast a delicate bluebell flame from his wand.

The plant reared back from the heat and flame, dropping the key, which Harry darted in to catch.

“Still got it!” Harry chuckled to himself, then he opened Hermione’s Memory Box.

It was empty, except for a castle from a Wizard’s Chess set. A little flag had been erected from its ramparts - half white, half green, with a big red dragon right in the middle of it. Harry smiled fondly at it, guessed at what it meant, then span into a Apparition to the ancient Norman Keep of Cardiff Castle.

Why here? Why was this important? Simple... for it was here seventeen years ago, in this picturesque location, that Harry Potter had asked Hermione Granger to _marry him_.

Harry almost expected for Hermione to be waiting for him, perhaps surrendering on one knee - much as he’d done to her on that wonderful day all those years ago. But all he found was a pumpkin full of sweets. He took one - a sherbet lemon - as he rested on the crumbling battlements to think.

“Okay, so what does _this_ mean?” he pondered, popping the sweet into his mouth. “A pumpkin full of sweets _normally_ means Halloween … hmm, I wonder …”

Harry trotted down the broken staircase, across the old castle to the undercroft, all the while listening to a memory in his head. One where a soon-to-be dead teacher was screaming about a troll … before fainting.

And Harry raced off bravely to save the life of his future wife for the first time. 

Well, it was an _undercroft_ rather than a _dungeon_ , but it did have a ladies toilet with an _out of order_ sign on it. Harry chuckled deeply, then pushed the door open.

Inside the bathroom, Harry found a cauldron with two vials of potion next to it. One was black, the other purple. A note - again in Hermione’s familiar swirl - read “ _To go on, to some ‘reflection’, pick a colour and stir in seven times.”_

“Very crafty,” Harry nodded as he read the note. “Now - which potion did I take? No, wait … it was the _fires_ that were different colours! That was almost a disaster. Now, which one did I go through? It was the black fire … I think. No, of course it was.”

Harry took the black potion and tipped it into the cauldron. Then he grabbed the spoon and began to stir. It was hard work, and with each turn the walls of the bathroom began to move as if Harry were turning a giant lever. After seven turns, Harry was faced with seven mirrors, each with a rough engraving over them.

“ _Ego, Lust, Gluttony, OBHWF,_ \- urgh - _Greed, Avarice, Hearts True Desire,_ ” Harry read in turn. “I think I’ll choose mirror number seven!”

So he did, pushing the mirror like a revolving door and finding himself on the other side.

He was now in a gloomy chamber that didn’t seem to go anywhere. On the floor he found one of Celesca’s dolls … but it had been altered. Harry barked out a laugh as he saw that the doll had been dressed in Gryffindor robes, adorned with masses of hair and over-sized front teeth. In one hand, a little mirror had been fixed. In the other, was a small note.

“ _Pipes_ ,” Harry read, another memory flaring in his mind. “Ah … okay.”

He looked along the walls and found three large waste pipes, each covered by an access hatch. There were clever etchings on them - here a badger, there an eagle, and on the last one - a serpent. Harry shook his head good-naturedly again, before focusing on the serpent and drawing his Parseltongue to the surface.

“ _Open_!” he hissed. The hatch obeyed, and Harry made his way along it.

He was in another dark chamber and as he started to cross it he kicked something on the floor. He had to laugh again. It was a little diary with a hole in it. Harry opened to the first page where, written by Celesca in one of her crayons, were the words,

“ _Help will always be given to those Potters who ask for it on their birthdays!”_

Harry chortled deeply, then called out, “I am Harry Potter, today is my birthday, and I am asking for help to rescue my family from tickling pixies!”

There was a flash of flame above him and Hermione’s Phoenix - who was called Solaria and had been Harry’s wedding present to her - exploded into the air, swept down, and whisked Harry away in another burst of flame. She deposited him at a dark transport terminal. There, gleaming purple, was the Knight Bus, waiting for him.

“All aboard!” called Teddy Lupin, who was the new conductor. “Hurry, Godfather, I have your ticket right here!”

“And where are we going?” Harry grinned.

“Who can tell?” Teddy winked back.

With a bang they were gone. Ten minutes later and the Knight Bus skidded to a halt outside The Leaky Cauldron. Teddy bowed Harry from the triple-decker and the Knight Bus sped off with another minor explosion. Curious, Harry stepped inside the pub and looked around. It was empty, except for Daphne Greengrass, who ran the place these days.

“Ah, Harry, there you are!” Daphne smiled as Harry walked in. “Your room is all ready for you. Now, you do _remember_ which one, don’t you? It isn't safe with all those Dementors and falsely-accused murderers running about everywhere!”

Then it clicked in Harry’s brain. The tasks for the Philosopher’s Stone … the Chamber of Secrets … this came _next_ in the chronology of his life! So _that's_ what Hermione was doing! He felt a great rush of affection for his wife just then. She was so _clever_ ... it was probably his favourite thing about her. Harry wracked his memory again, straining to remember his room number. Then it came to him.

“Thanks, Daphne, I remember,” he grinned at the landlady, before mounting the stairs, questing for the room with the shiny brass number eleven on it.

Once inside room eleven, Harry began the hunt for his next clue. He was _loving_ this game so far. He wondered where Hermione had come up with the idea and what the next clue would be. He tried to remember what had happened in sequence, when he'd first lived these events. Then, as if to jolt his memory, he heard a little _me-ow_ from the bed. He looked over to see Mimi curled up with some kitten treats.

Harry watched her fondly a moment, for she’d been dressed in a fluffy ginger coat. Around her neck was another note, along with a temporary collar bearing the name of her predecessor.

“Aww, poor Crookshanks,” Harry grieved, recalling how upset Hermione had been when her old pet had sadly passed away. Harry crossed to his wife’s new familiar, and unclipped the note from her collar. “- ' _July is lovely weather for an ice cream'-_. It certainly is.”

Harry licked his lips, and a second later re-materialised outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice-Cream parlour. The shop was nice and busy, and Harry was sorely tempted by the sight of a banana split at a nearby table, but it was _another_ sight that caught his immediate attention.

For there was old Florean himself, holding Harry’s battered old _Firebolt._

“This is for you,” Florean smiled, handing Harry the racing broom.

“And where am I flying it to?” Harry queried.

“Ah, I believe _it_ is flying _you_ , Mr Potter,” Florean quirked.

So Harry flung his leg over the broom and held on tight, as it suddenly took off at speed, quite under its own control. Several minutes of flying later and Harry touched down on the messy, litter-strewn pavement of Grimmauld Place.

“Okay, so this is the Sirius connection,” Harry thought aloud, feeling the usual pang at the loss of his Godfather.

He pushed that down and headed up the stairs, to the building that was once the seat of the House of Black, but was long since converted to the British Headquarters of the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. A dowdy little elf in a bobble hat and pantaloons bowed Harry through the front door, where he was greeted in the hallway by a sweeping cloud of silver mist, that was distinctly Hermione Potter-shaped. As it twirled and danced towards Harry, it said something to him.

“ _If only we had more time … if only we had more time …”_

Harry grinned back and blew his spectre-wife a kiss, which made her dissipate away. He moved along the hall to the ancient Grandfather clock, which had kept all the time it had ever seen. Harry clicked open the glass covering of the dial and inside found a hippogriff claw and feather, which had been turned into a quill. It sat poised and quivering on a piece of parchment, so Harry drew his wand and set it to motion.

The hippogriff quill began to write something. Harry leaned in to read.

“ _In this house, my wings will never wither_. _”_

“What does that … oh! I get it!” Harry exclaimed, before vaulting up the wide staircase to the attic, where Buckbeak had once lived.

But the attic seemed to be bare, aside from some piles of parchment. Harry was confused, so sat down near the door.

“We saved Buckbeak … rode him together,” Harry remembered fondly, his cheeks glowing with lovely emotion. “Then what good thing happened next? Oh! Oh _yeah_!”

Harry began thumbing energetically through the piles of parchment. On the third pile, about seven sheets down, Harry found what he was looking for.

_HOGSMEADE WEEKEND PERMISSION FORM_

_I, Hermione Jane Potter, do grant Harry Potter my loving permission to visit the village on designated weekends. Should he wish to invite a bookish sort of girl to join him, she definitely would NOT refuse! Xxx_

Harry laughed out loud, pocketed the permission slip, and Apparated to the middle of Hogsmeade.

“Okay, now I’m stuck,” Harry said to himself. “We never went on a date in school time - more’s the pity - so where to start? I must be here for a reason. How did year four start? ... hmm … how did _all_ years start? … or _should_ have started ... maybe _that’s_ it!”

So Harry headed to the train station. His luck was in, for sure enough, there on a bench, was an ornamental chalice. Harry looked at it fondly, for on the base Celesca had written - in a wobbly felt-pen scrawl - _Try-Wizzerd Cup_. Harry thought it insanely cute that his daughter had gotten the spelling wrong. Harry approached the cup, which immediately filled with flames and spat out a single slip of parchment.

Harry jumped up to catch it, reading his own name on one side, just as the cup vocalised it in a deep tone … or, at least, as deep a tone as Sophie could manage. Then Harry heard _Hermione’s_ voice, as she said -

“ _Where’s the best place for a few ‘rounds’ of toast?_ ”

Harry beamed, inwardly and outwardly, before practically sprinting to the grounds of Hogwarts and that well-worn path, which he and his wife had practically made their own over the years.

But where to look next? The Great Lake was, well, _great_. The next clue could be _anywhere_. Harry scratched his chin as he thought. Where was special here? The big tree? No, that wasn’t so personal to _them_ , the orbital lake path to vague. Then it hit him … there was only _one_ spot Hermione would choose near here, and Harry was at it in a flash.

To the casual onlooker it was an innocuous bush, no different to a dozen others dotted about the shore. But as Harry approached it, he was blessed with two very different memories. The first had him as a thirteen year old, crouching out of sight in an adventure through time. It was here, on this very spot, that he thought he’d seen his father stand, only to realise it was _himself_ ... and that _he_ was able to cast a Patronus powerful enough to scatter a hundred Dementors.

It was also the secluded spot where, on a balmy April night some five years later, he and Hermione would share their first kiss.

It had to be the right spot and, sure enough - hidden beneath the brambles of the bush - was a little Easter egg, in golden foil wrapping. Harry chuckled heartily as he unwrapped it and took the two halves of the egg apart.

“This had better not be full of _crumbs_ or something,” Harry spoke crossly. “Or you and I, wifey, will have a _serious_ falling out!”

But Hermione Potter was not a crass and thoughtless wife. Inside the egg, Harry found a tiny rune dictionary. Perplexed, he cast a spell to re-size the book and opened the front page.

“ _This is the best tool to learn a CERTAIN spell ... especially when threatened by a dragon!”_

Harry laughed again and pointed his wand into the air with no direction in mind. “ _Accio Next Clue!”_

Sure enough, _something_ flew at him from beyond the trees. It was a small blue robe, that probably came from another of Celesca’s dolls. Harry thought they’d been very pliant to have been sequestered for this game … normally they kicked your ankles if you even _tried_ to move them around from their usual homes in Celesca’s bedroom!

The little dress had the next note pinned to it. “ _Yule never guess where to look next!”_

 _“_ Hmm ... _yule_ never guess where to look next?” Harry mused. “What does that mean? And the dress … ah, I think I know! I’m getting good at this! You should have worked harder, girls!”

Harry hurried up to the castle itself. It should have been closed up, but the huge front doors were open and waiting for him. Harry moved inside, looking first at the main staircase - and affording himself a sweet moment to remember seeing Hermione looking so pretty there, as she had done all those years ago - before heading into the Great Hall itself.

Waiting just inside the doors, in identical party gowns, were Padma and Parvati Hirani. Parvati stepped forward and smiled warmly at Harry.

“Good afternoon, Harry,” she beamed. “Congratulations.”

“Finally! _Someone_ remembered!” Harry cried in glee.

Then Padma stepped close to her sister. “Yes, congratulations … on setting up the first Squib-only Quidditch team. Isn’t it a- _maze_ -ing how Quidditch can bring people together? Bye, Harry.”

Then Padma and Parvati skipped past him and away, ignoring all his calls for them to stop.

“This is getting weird,” Harry grumbled. “What now? Okay, lets think. I’ve found the egg, had the Yule Ball, then it was … the _maze!_ A- _maze-_ ing. Clever girl. Off we go again then!”

Harry happily span around and headed out of the castle and back towards the Quidditch pitch. As he expected, it had been turned into a little labyrinth. Luckily the walls of it were just low enough for Harry to see over. Keen to play his part, though, Harry used his wand to cast the four-point spell, and a directional charm, and - even though it took over an hour this way - Harry eventually found his way to the middle of the maze.

There was a little stone plinth there with a Gryffindor Prefects badge on top. Harry picked up the badge and looked at it, seeing that it had been altered slightly. The large golden ‘ _P’_ was still there, but instead of the other little letters spelling the word ' _prefect'_ they now spelled ' _Potter'_. Under that there was a flashing phrase that urged Harry to, ' _Press Me'._

So he did … and he couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto his face for the next clue.

For the badge had changed to something that Harry had almost forgotten. Instead of reading _Potter_ , it now said - flashing in much the same way as _another_ badge once had -, _“Do you remember the first time when a Potter REALLY stunk?”_

Harry felt his heart thud pleasantly at the memory. He pointed his wand at the badge, and muttered ‘ _Portus_ ’. A moment later and he was whirled away, re-materialising at a small picnic spot in Abingdon, near Oxford. There was a little picnic bench here, under some towering beech trees, which afforded a lovely view down a wide canal in both directions. It was a pretty spot, but it wasn’t the sort of place anyone would think of as monumental or important.

But to Harry Potter it _was_ … for it was here, on this spot, a stone’s throw from Hermione’s childhood home, that Harry changed his firstborn’s dirty nappy for the very first time.

And it really _did_ stink!

Harry laughed deeply at the memory, and the laugh rumbled on as he found, underneath the bench, an unopened nappy waiting for him. Written in yet more felt pen on the cover were the words -

_“Are you ready to do that for another one?”_

Hermione’s words echoed in Harry’s mind, as fresh as the day she told him. A second later and Harry was standing on the very spot, on the verandah of their Summer Cabin in Rhossili Bay on the Gower Peninsula. He remembered the moment vividly - he had been flicking through a copy of _Witch Weekly,_ that had an article on baby-changing techniques, when Hermione had pressed his hand to her belly and asked the family-famous question.

Harry Potter didn’t cry very often … but he had that night.

He wasn’t going to now, though. There must be another clue around here somewhere. For half an hour he hunted around, but there were so many possible places to look, so many great memories that had been made here. Harry tried to pick out one, but where to start?

“Right, we’ve gone through most of the big, _nice_ events of my life,” Harry thought. “So, lets go through what's happened so far.”

He started ticking them off on his fingers. Without realising he’d been doing it, Harry noticed that he was _counting_ them. He started again and when he reached his current spot he had counted thirty clues so far. The sun was beginning to drop on the horizon now, and on the wide beach down below a few groups of revellers had lit fires for barbecues. Harry could smell the wafting aroma of slightly burnt sausages, and his eyes fell hungrily on the grill on his own verandah.

“Oh, _yeah_!” Harry cried out, leaping up. He suddenly remembered his thirtieth birthday, where Neville had told him Enola was pregnant, not a month after Harry and Hermione had announced _they_ were expecting their first baby. They had all come to the Gower to celebrate, and Neville almost set the cabin on fire when he forgot about his burning sausages.

Harry whooped as he opened the grill and found another note inside.

“ _You are getting very warm now, Harry. Thirty of the Naughty Fairies have run away. There are only ‘tent-to-go’.”_

Harry grinned as he thought he understood, and quickly turned into his latest Apparition. This time he arrived at a private spot in the Forest of Dean, where Harry and Hermione regularly brought their girls for long weekends away. Right there, billowing in the breeze, was their magically-modified tent, red and purple and gold in colour.

Harry hurried inside, thinking maybe his party would be in _there_. But, alas, it was empty. It looked as if somewhere had been there recently, though, as the large table in the middle was laid out with cards, as if someone had been playing poker. Harry moved close and observed the hands on display, certain they must be the next clue.

“A full house, three of a kind, a king, a queen and three aces?” Harry puzzled as he tried to work it out. And then it came to him. “Hermione must be the queen, and me the king, with the aces as our kids, which also explains the three-of-a-kind. And Hermione always says that since James we have a full set, or ... _a full house_. Oh … I _see_ ... _James!”_

Harry’s eyes twinkled and his face flushed with warmth as _another_ memory came to his mind … of the night when he and Hermione conceived their son. It had happened right here. Harry hurried over to the king-sized bed in the Parent’s Pod at the back of the tent. Harry looked at the bed, wondering where the clue was. Then he thought he got it.

For the pillow wasn’t the normal one that should have been there. It was a fluffy child’s pillow with a niffler-shaped badge sewn into it. Harry grinned as he looked at it, for this was Sophie’s special _Money Pillow_ , one she’d had since she was very little. She called it the Money Pillow because it was the only one that turned her baby teeth into Galleons when she put them under it.

Harry felt a bit guilty as he thought that. For it was _his_ fault that the only time his daughter had _failed_ to turn her fallen-out teeth into money had been when she tried it at Hermione’s parent’s house - and Harry and Hermione had gotten a little tipsy and did _husband-and-wife_ things - and the tooth was completely forgotten about.

Sophie wasn’t too upset, though, as she found _two_ Galleons waiting under her Money Pillow when she returned home the next day.

Harry wondered if he’d have the same sort of luck, and lifted up the pillow. It really was his lucky day, as there, on the back of an old wedding invitation, Celesca had scribbled the latest clue.

“ _In the place where Mummy and Daddy were altar-ed, you can see the stars.”_

Harry ran his thumb fondly over his daughter’s barely legible scrawl a moment, before leaving the tent, and Apparating away once more. And in the place he arrived now, Harry’s heart was positively _alive_ with energy.

For he was standing next to a vast construction - concentric circles of huge silver-blue standing stones, all complete with equally massive lintels. And at the centre was a monolith that was also a ceremonial altar. It might have been what Stonehenge looked like at the time of its inception. Aligned to the stars, open to the magic of the world, sacred to the Goddess Luna, this was the Temple of the Moon.

And it was here that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had become husband and wife.

Harry felt his heart thudding around his chest as he made his way down the aisle once again, fervent with all the same passion he’d felt on that amazing day. He could hear the voices, the cheers, see his beautiful bride standing ready for him. It might have happened yesterday in his mind.

But it was empty now, except for a replica of their wedding cake on the plinth. A slice had been cut for him, so he took a bite.

“Pumpkin sponge … my favourite,” Harry swooned as he enjoyed the flavour of the sweet cake in his mouth.

Then he looked down. In a small box next to the cake was a set of golden cufflinks, so joined together to look like interlocked wedding rings. Harry reached for them, reasonably certain about what was going to happen … for the same thing had happened not long after he and Hermione had swapped those fateful _‘I do’s_ ’ about fifteen years ago…

So Harry picked up the cufflinks … which became a Portkey … and took him right to …

His own front door again.

_“SURPRISE!!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”_

Fireworks went off, party poppers banged, people cheered and whooped and yelled all sorts of _Happy Birthday_ wishes Harry’s way. Half the wizarding world seemed to be in his own gardens tonight, which had been decorated with lights and banners, balloons and _real_ fairies. The Longbottoms were there, and Teddy Lupin, and Padma and Parvati waved enthusiastically at him. But Harry only had eyes for a small group of people who were hurrying up to greet him.

“Happy birthday, Daddy!” Celesca squeaked, clutching hard to Harry’s thigh as he met them.

“Happy birthday!" cried Sophie, leaning on tip-toe to kiss Harry's cheek, before adding with a laugh, "I wasn’t _really_ buying bras, Daddy, I hope you know that!”

Then, finally, Hermione came up and kissed Harry tenderly on the lips, which drew yet more cheers from the crowd. “Happy birthday, honey. How did you like the chase?”

“Chasing you was _always_ worth it!!” Harry grinned back. “I’ll get you back for that on _your_ birthday, you know!”

“Oh, you really wont!” Hermione laughed confidently. “Come on, the world and his dog waiting to wish you a happy birthday. Besides, it’s not every day you turn _forty_. Everyone’s waiting to see my old man.”

“Oi … less of the old!”

Hermione laughed, their children laughed, and Harry finally got his own party started.


	8. Scaring for Two

**A/N** : Just a cute short, inspired by the HMS Harmony Discord Halloween Drabble Prompt

* * *

That night they were playing ' _let's scare Mummy'!_

When Harry had magically grown the pumpkin in the living room until it was just the right size, little Sophie Potter tucked in the hem of her purple and black witches costume and climbed inside. She had to take off her pointy hat so that the top of the pumpkin would fit over her head, which made her cross as she immediately missed her purple witches hair.

"Now, remember," Harry reminded her. "Keep quiet, and keep looking through the little eye of the pumpkin. Then when Mummy comes in, you jump out and give her the best scare ever. Got it?"

"I _know_ , Daddy," Sophie huffed, rolling her eyes so much like her mother. "This was _my_ plan, you know. _Honestly_!"

"Right," Harry conceded as they heard the door click open." "Ooh, look here she comes! Ready?"

"Ready," Sophie grinned cheekily, her emerald eyes flashing like the sparkles in her bushy, black hair. "Put the top of the pumpkin on, Daddy! Quick!"

Harry did as he was told, then darted behind the sofa to wait.

Hermione entered the room, and a second later was stunned by an erupting pumpkin and the loud cry of -

" _Boo!"_

Hermione leapt back in surprise, then caught her giggling daughter as she jumped up from inside the pumpkin.

"Happy Halloween, Mummy!" Sophie cried in glee. "Did I scare you?"

"You really did," Hermione admitted solemnly, brushing an errant curl behind her daughter's little ear. Then she frowned seriously. "Was this your father's idea?"

"No, Mummy, it was my idea," Sophie corrected. "But Daddy helped with the pumpkin. He thought it would be such a good game to scare you."

"Did he now?" Hermione replied with a wry grin. "Well, shall we scare Daddy right back?"

"Ooh, yes! Let's!" Sophie sung. "How would be best, do you think?"

"Oh, I have just the thing," Hermione smiled. "You just wait and see how scared Daddy is when I tell him some news I found out today."

"What news?"

Hermione smiled at her daughter. "The news that I'm now the scariest witch ever ... because I'm _scaring for two!"_

Harry leapt up from behind the sofa, his eyes wide in stunned shock. He looked questioningly at Hermione, who grinned back coquettishly as she turned her eyes to her belly. Harry crossed the room and his hand was there a second later, feeling the joy growing inside his wife.

Then their sparkling gazes finally met, and Harry felt the fire in his eyes. "You know, Mummy, I like your way of scaring me."

"And I like your way of making me scared," Hermione swooned back.

Then a cross little voice spoiled the moment. "This is all very well, but are we going Trick or Treating or not? I want to get more sweets than Alison Longbottom, and she's already had an hour headstart!"

Harry smiled at his little girl, then turned to his woman. "It's my turn this year, isn't it?"

"Yes, Daddy," Hermione confirmed. "But make me a cup of tea before you go, there's a good vampire."

Harry bared his false fangs, swished his cloak dramatically, and went to put the kettle on.


	9. A Bedtime Story

Little Sophie Potter was sick.

She had Owl Flu, which gave her a very runny nose, a tickly chest and a throaty cough. Her best friend, Alison Longbottom, had been given an owl for her tenth birthday by her Mummy and Daddy, and the silly, screechy thing had brought Sophie her flu, along with a letter inviting her to Alison’s birthday party.

But she was now too unwell to go, and was very cross about the whole thing.

So the whole family had decided to get together to try and cheer Sophie up. Hermione Potter spent her time lighting one of her trademark waterproof, bluebell flame fires in the hearth of Sophie’s bedroom, where she was all cwtched up under her fluffy quilts with her stuffed unicorn for sympathetic support. Mimi the kneazle was there too, curled up on Sophie’s chest, though she did get frightened every time Sophie sneezed, and the eldest Potter child had to hold the kitten in place to stop her scampering for safety.

Harry and little Celesca, meanwhile, were on Hot Drinks duty. Harry was making a honey and lemon drink to soothe Sophie’s itchy throat, adding a secret potion ingredient that would speed up the healing process. Celesca, standing on a little stool next to Harry at the kitchen worktop, was busily stirring sugar into her Mummy’s tea. She would add sugar to her Daddy’s coffee next, but she was always confused by the strange mix he liked.

“Daddy?” Celesca frowned as she scratched her chin.

“Yes, honey?”

“I cant remember - is it two _white sugars_ and one brown that you like, or is it the other way around?”

“No, you have it right,” Harry replied with a smile. His daughter was so cute when she pulled on her golden locks in her confused, mild anxiety. How she ever turned out _blonde_ Harry had never discovered, but he was eminently thankful for it. She was just perfect for it, wherever that particular gene had come from.

“Oh. Okay,” Celesca chirped happily. She dropped two white sugar lumps and one brown one into Harry’s cup, which was Gryffindor scarlet had a big, golden lightening bolt on it to match his old scar, and began to stir.

“Daddy, why do you have two different sugars in your coffee?” Celesca asked curiously.

“Well, your Mummy would say it’s because I need to stay sweet for her,” Harry quirked. “But I just like the taste, really.”

“Isn’t it very bad for your teeth, though?”

“It is,” Harry agreed piously. “Which I why I don’t drink coffee when your Gran and Granddad Granger come to visit!”

Celesca nodded as she understood that. Once she’d finished stirring the sugar she jumped down from the stool and gave her Daddy a big tray he’d made ready on the kitchen table. It already had Celesca’s favourite hot drink on it - warm milk with a dash of something called nutmeg, that made her very sleepy - and a saucer of chocolate biscuits. Harry placed the other drinks on it and they went to join Hermione, Sophie and Mimi upstairs.

Once there, Harry handed out the drinks and sat on the head of Sophie’s bed. She curled up into his chest and he helped her drink the hot honey and lemon mixture, while Celesca folded herself into Hermione’s lap at the other end of the bed.

The fire crackled happily in the background as Sophie looked up at her father. “Daddy - can you tell me a story?”

“Ooh, _yes_!” Celesca cried happily, bounding up. “I’ll just go and fetch my _Seven Storey Book of Stories!”_

“No! I don’t want a storybook story,” Sophie frowned. “I want a _Mummy and Daddy_ story instead. They are always better than the ones in the fairy tale books anyway.”

“Ooh, _yeees_!” Celesca agreed euphorically. “They so are! Please, Mummy!”

Harry and Hermione smiled fondly at each other.

“Well,” Hermione grinned. “I think it’s _Daddy’s_ turn to tell a story tonight, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Harry agreed solemnly. “So … which one would you like?”

“ _Mummy and Daddy versus the Basilisk_!” Celesca chimed loudly. “That’s my absolute _favourite_! It has the _biggest_ monster in it!”

“No, we had that one just last week,” Sophie mused. “I want a different one.”

“ _Daddy rescues Mummy from the Big Troll?”_ Celesca suggested.

“No. That’s too scary.”

“Ok. How about _Mummy and Daddy save Buckbeak the Hippogriff?”_

“That’s another monster story!” Sophie complained.

“But I _like_ monsters,” Celesca reminded her big sister in a sheepish little voice. She was already feeling disappointed that this wasn’t looking like being a night for monster stories.

“We can have that one tomorrow,” Sophie pacified.

“Okay,” Celesca conceded with a smile. “So, which story do _you_ want to hear, Soph?”

“I want to hear how Daddy won Mummy from the Weasel Man,” Sophie replied, grinning wickedly at her parents. “That’s _my_ favourite one.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry as he tried to hold back a laugh.

“Why is _that_ your favourite one, sweetie?” Harry asked. He was dying to know.

“Because he’s so _weird_ ,” Sophie confessed. “I’ve seen him in that joke shop he runs on Diagon Alley. And he’s so _funny-looking_. I cant imagine what Mummy saw in him.”

“No, neither can I,” Harry grinned teasingly at his wife. She poked her tongue out playfully at him in return.

“And not just that, but he has those _twins_ of his,” Sophie added with a scowl. “And they are so _freckled_. It’s like they both have Spattergoit or something.”

“Millie and Mollie are just _ginger_ ,” Hermione explained patiently. “That’s simply the way their skin goes sometimes, especially if they go out in the sun.”

“Well, they are ugly little things,” Sophie replied bitterly. “When we go to Hogwarts _I_ certainly wont be making friends with them. Me and Ally Longbottom have already made up our minds about that.”

“If you don’t want to make friends with them because they turn out to be horribly nasty girls, then fine,” Hermione told her daughter sternly. “Their mother was the daughter of Death Eaters, after all. But if you make a decision on someone based on what their _skin_ looks like, then I’ll pull you right out of Hogwarts and home school you until that sort of bigotry is squashed out of you. Am I making myself clear?”

“But Mum!”

“No _buts_ ,” Harry added firmly. “We’ve raised you better than that, young lady. Listen to your mother, _both_ of you. We wont tolerate that sort of behaviour from either of you. Understand?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Sophie and Celesca chorused faithfully in chastised unison. Hermione was firm with her girls, but Daddy’s word carried infinitely more weight. They couldn’t have said why … it just did. And when they joined together, they knew it was just the right thing to do, to listen to the word of their parents.

“Sorry, Mummy,” Sophie mumbled. “I’ll try and be nice to Millie and Mollie.”

“Good girl,” Hermione smiled. Then she eased her daughter’s head up with a twinkle in her eyes. “But if they turn out to be little monsters, I can teach you some clever little jinxes to use on them!”

Sophie grinned mischievously. “Thanks, Mum!”

“This is all very well,” Celesca announced crossly. “But _I’m_ still waiting for a story. My hot milk is nearly cold and I’m not even a _bit_ sleepy yet!”

“Now I know a jinx for _that_!” Harry quirked at Hermione.

“Dont even think about _spelling_ our little girl!” Hermione warned sternly.

“Yes, Mum,” Harry winked. Hermione smiled prettily back at him. “Right … how I won Mummy!”

“Ooh, here we go,” Sophie sang happily, snuggling into Harry. “Can you tell the _fake_ version, where you end up duelling the Weasel Man over a fire pit?”

“What?” Hermione laughed. “Daddy … you _haven’t_?”

“Poetic licence, Mummy,” Harry grinned back. “If only, eh?”

“I’d have liked to watch _that_ ,” Hermione agreed thoughtfully. “But enough of your fanciful tales. _Once upon a time …”_

Hermione cajoled her husband, rolling her hand like a band conductor for him to begin.

“Once upon a time,” Harry parroted. “There was a _very_ beautiful witch. The most beautiful witch in the land …”

“Called _Mummy_ ,” Celesca grinned with a sparkling smile, cuddling into Hermione, who held her tightly.

“She wasn’t called _Mummy_ then,” Harry reminded her. “But I hoped that one day she’d want to be called that.”

“Not right away, though,” Hermione teased.

“Do you want to tell this story or shall I?” Harry replied with a laugh.

“I’m sorry. Go on. You were just saying how beautiful I was,” Hermione piped back with a wink.

“As I said, _most beautiful witch in the land_ ,” Harry repeated. “And the brightest, too. Now this witch loved fairy tales, almost as much as Celesca loves monsters. So, one day, this witch decided she wanted to be in her _own_ fairy tale. She had heard about a school of magic -”

“Called Hogwarts,” Sophie supplied.

“Called Hogwarts,” Harry confirmed. “And as a _witch_ , she decided she’d have to find a wizard husband, and where better to look than a school of magic? So she jumped on a magic train and what did she find?”

“A toad!” Celesca cried out excitedly. “You didn’t _kiss_ the toad, did you, Mummy?”

“Eww!” Sophie laughed, deliciously disgusted. “Was it all slimy and wriggly, Mummy?”

Hermione looked down sternly, as she played with Celesca’s hair. “I think you’re getting your fairy tales mixed up, girls. I didn’t kiss the toad. That is a _different_ story. But a toad _did_ lead me to my prince!”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look that would have melted the stoniest of hearts.

“Anyway,” Harry went on. “The witch met several wizards, and went on a lot of adventures with them.”

“And met a _lot_ of monsters,” Celesca pointed out, thoughtfully.

“Yes, I really did,” Hermione agreed. “I’m surprised I didn’t need a Mind Healer after all that.”

Harry chuckled. “One of the strangest monsters, though, was a Bulgarian Krum Beast! It preyed on young girls, and it set its eyes on the witch …”

“Harry -” Hermione warned in their secret tone.

“My story, Mummy,” Harry volleyed back, playfully. “Sssh, now.”

“Yes, sssh,” Celesca admonished. “I didn’t know there was a monster bit in this story. Go on, Daddy.”

“So, the Krum Beast came to the school,” Harry continued. “He walked like a duck, could change his head into a shark’s and could _fly_.”

“Wow!” Sophie and Celesca breathed in tandem. “Sounds scary.”

“It was,” Harry went on, as his wife pouted mutinously at him. “Luckily, he couldn’t dance. So when he pretended to be a boy and went to a big Ball with the witch, she decided he wasn’t for her.

“But at the Ball, another wizard noticed the witch dancing with the Krum Beast and became very jealous, because he’d decided that _he_ was going to marry the witch -”

“Despite what _she_ might have thought about it _,”_ Hermione scythed in bitterly.

“Because you wanted to marry Daddy,” Sophie chipped in confidently.

Harry smiled at Hermione. “Precisely. Though she hadn’t told me that yet.”

“And your Daddy wasn’t very bright when it came to witches at that age,” Hermione twittered gently. “He needed to be told what was best for him.”

“I did,” Harry agreed plainly. “So anyway, the Weasel Wizard wanted to marry the beautiful witch, but she’d rather have eaten Thestral poop than do that. So the Weasel Wizard came up with a plan. He found a magic book of Dark spells to say to the witch without them _looking_ like spells, so she wouldn’t know that Dark magic was being done on her.”

“And they made Mummy fall in love with the Weasel Wizard!” Sophie spat angrily. “Can I _really_ not be mean to Millie and Mollie, Mummy?”

“No,” Hermione returned firmly. “They can’t be blamed for being Weasleys. That’s punishment enough, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Sophie sniffed. “Carry on, Daddy.”

“I should point out that the witch was never _really_ in love with the Weasel Wizard,” Harry went on. “But the spells did things that made her think she might have been.”

“So how did you save her from the bad Weasel, Daddy?” Celesca asked, hitching her knees into her chest in expectation.

Harry smiled at his wife. “I refused to go to their wedding. I found out that the Weasel Wizard’s sister - who wanted to marry _me_ \- had been using Dark Magic on me. She had brewed a special perfume that made me like her, and then did a clever bit of magic to try and win me.”

“What magic?” asked Sophie.

“Well, you know how I can change into a stag?” Harry began. His girls nodded that they did. “Well, my _first_ animal form was actually a lion. But it changed as I got older. But when I was young, the Weasel Witch somehow found out about that, and was able to awaken a bit of a lioness in her. Not much, but enough to make me feel like she should have been my _mate_. It was actually an impressive bit of magic - made me feel like I had a monster in my chest trying to get out.”

“But why did it change?” asked Celesca.

“Because,” Hermione took over. “Animals can mate and move on. What your Daddy needed was something _permanent,_ something that wasn’t the _same_ as him, but something different - his complimentary partner. To fill in the gaps he had, and he would fill in _hers_. So he became a stag. And what does alchemy tell us is the partner to a stag?”

“The unicorn!” Sophie and Celesca sang out together.

“Which is what _you_ can turn into Mummy!” Sophie completed.

“And a very beautiful unicorn she makes, too,” Harry grinned at her.

“Hush you,” Hermione blushed shyly.

“But how did you stop the wedding, Daddy?” Celesca urged. “Between Mummy and the Weasel King?”

“By simply not _being there_ ,” Hermione answered for him. “I knew something was the matter when he said he wasn’t coming. So before I went to get married, I stopped by to see your father, so he could tell me what was wrong.”

“And what did you say?” Sophie directed to Harry.

“I told your Mum that I couldn’t watch her marry the Weasel. It wasn’t right,” Harry replied.

“And I asked why,” Hermione continued.

“So I told her. I didn’t like it.”

“So _I_ asked what he didn’t like. I asked if it was because he fancied Ron.”

“Which I _didn’t_.”

“Or if it was that he was secretly in love with _me._ ”

“Which I was,” Harry confirmed with a smile.

“Then he told me about the Weasel Witch, and we tried to see if there was magic on _me_ , just in case.”

“And there was,” Harry remembered angrily. “So we took it off … and your mother called the wedding off that second.”

“Then Uncle Neville made you go on a date!” Celesca filled in.

“Then you got married, had _us_ , and we all live happily ever after!” Sophie chirruped. “It really is the _best_ story.”

“Yes, it is!” Celesca nodded enthusiastically. “ _Especially_ now I know there’s a monster in it! Can you tell me about that, Daddy?”

“Maybe, but not tonight,” Harry told her gently. “It’s bedtime for you young ladies.”

“Yes, come along munchkin,” Hermione agreed, scooping up little Celesca. “Maybe we have time for a quick fairy tale before _you_ go to sleep.”

“Thank you, Mummy!” Celesca babbled.

Then Hermione turned vampishly to Harry. “And if we get this story done fast enough, maybe your Dad can play out a _quickie_ with me.”

Harry felt his heart flip as his loins woke up in eagerness. “Are you _sure_ I cant use a spell to get the kids to sleep?”

“We’ll see,” Hermione replied, flashing her burning eyes at him. “Goodnight, Sophie.”

“Night, Mum.”

And she was asleep in three seconds flat. Harry grinned to himself. Magic was all very well … but you couldn’t beat a bit of nutmeg.


End file.
